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T Z7 


Book_ < 


Copyright N°_ QjL. 


COPflilCHT DEPOSIT. 


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CELIA’S CHOICE 


How One Gikl Solved Hek Problems 





























Her curiosity emboldened her.— Page Jf2 






























CELIA’S CHOICE 

How One Girl Solved Her Problems 

I 



EDITH VEZOLLES DAVIS 

it 

Author of “ The Magic Fiddle ” 
and “ One GirZ’e JFa?/ ” 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

J. CLEMENS GRETTA 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 











Tl-i 



Copyright, 1933, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 
All Rights Reserved 
Celia’s Choice 

-Jr 


Printed in U.S.A. 


SEP 16 iS33 

©CIA 66117 




TO 


MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND, 

Martha Owen Jackson 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

A Decision ..... 

PAGE 

. 12 

II 

The Path Divides 

. 25 

III 

Celia Carson .... 

. 38 

IV 

A Symphony in Blue . 

. 49 

V 

Aunt Clem Speaks Her Mind 

. 62 

VI 

A Breakfast al Fresco 

. 71 

VII 

At the Pottery .... 

. 83 

VIII 

A Confession .... 

. 99 

IX 

Another Confession . 

. 114 

X 

An Affair at the Lake 

. 127 

XI 

An Embarrassing Situation 

. 139 

XII 

Ted Carson ..... 

. 148 

XIII 

Inglenook ..... 

. 160 

XIV 

A Garden in the Moonlight 

. 172 

XV 

Julian Strassman 

. 184 

XVI 

A Resolution .... 

. 197 

XVII 

A Rude Awakening 

. 206 

XVIII 

Angela Shows Her Hand . 

. 216 

XIX 

The Open Door .... 

. 231 

XX 

An Unexpected Move . 

. 243 

XXI 

Retreat ..... 

. 256 

XXII 

A Ride in the Night . 

. 267 

XXIII 

Home Again .... 

. 280 

XXIV 

Celia Finds Herself . 

. 288 

XXV 

Disappointment .... 

. 296 

XXVI 

A Question ..... 

. 303 

XXVII 

An Answer ..... 

. 315 


9 





ILLUSTRATIONS 

Her curiosity emboldened her (Page 42) Frontispiece 
“I rather envy you.” ..... 95 

A white face, and the flash of the paddle . . 137 

“You’ve met my brother?” .... 187 

She collided with a man ..... 269 




CELIA’S CHOICE 


CHAPTER I 

A DECISION 

Slowly dusk grew into darkness and settled over 
the figure of a young girl sitting motionless on the 
doorstep of an unpretentious little house perched 
atop a knoll overlooking the little town of Newton- 
ville. 

Her chin buried firmly in her cupped hands, she 
stared unseeingly into the descending darkness, ap¬ 
parently unmindful of the beauty of the scene spread 
out below—the big Duval house with its walled gar¬ 
den a little to the left; the gleam of the new highway 
curving to the right and on into the little town, whose 
lights glimmered enchantingly through the old trees 
that bordered many of the little streets. Nor did 
she note the myriad fireflies that drifted up from 
the rough grass of the slope below and twinkled in¬ 
termittently among the tall pines that seemed to hug 
the darkness a little hungrily to themselves. Even 
to the sleepy coo of a pair of turtledoves high in one 
of the pines, which usually brought a light of interest 
to her brown eyes, she now made no response. 

is 


14 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


And when her aged great-aunt, Mrs. Clementine 
Carson, who sat in a rocker on the porch behind her, 
slapped irritably at a marauding mosquito and com¬ 
plained, “You’ve been awful quiet all evening, 
Celia,” she made no move, nor did she give any sign 
of having heard. 

Her aunt drew her knitted shawl a bit closer about 
her slender, stooped shoulders, closed the open Bible 
on her lap, then said gently, her eyes fixed a bit 
anxiously on the rigid figure on the step below her, 
“I do hate seeing you go to work, Celia, especially 
so soon after commencement. I was hoping Steve’d 
be back-” 

Here the old voice quavered a bit and paused, 
then went on again: 

“After all, Celia, I reckon you’re lucky to have 
people like the Duvals interested in you. I must say 
Mr. Duval was nice to say you could take your choice 
between a job in his hardware store and one at his 
bank.” Then, with a relieved sigh, “It’s so much 
better than having to go into the pottery. Somehow 
I just couldn’t bear seeing you go to work in the pot¬ 
tery, Celia.” 

And when Celia made no response, she went on, 
a note of caution in her voice: “I don’t want to do 
your deciding for you, Celia, but it seems to me you 
couldn’t make a mistake going into the bank. 
There’s something a little more tony about a bank 



A DECISION 


15 


than a hardware store, though I reckon it was the 
hardware that put the Duvals where they are to¬ 
day.” 

Celia did not move, but she said with an intensity 
that made the elderly woman look at her sharply, “I 
loathe hardware, Aunt Clem.” 

After a moment’s pause her aunt sighed with re¬ 
lief and said brightly, “I’m so glad, Celia, that 
you’ve decided on the bank. You’ll have more time 
then to be with Angela. She gets back from Worth- 
ington Hall to-morrow, they say.” A pleased note 
was now in her voice. “If you go into the bank, 
you’ll have your Saturday afternoons and holidays 
to be with her, and every day after four. It’ll be 
nice. And then, if Steve comes back, there’s no 
reason why you can’t go on to Normal in the fall and 
be a teacher.” 

“I don’t expect ever to be a teacher, Aunt Clem!” 

Again the intensity in the girl’s voice caused the 
elderly woman to look at her, but, instead of the 
soothing quality that was in Mrs. Carson’s next 
words, a note of sharpness could now be distin¬ 
guished. 

“Celia! There’s no need of talking like that! It’s 
what I’ve set my heart on for you all along! In my 
opinion there’s nothing nicer than a nice, smart, in¬ 
dependent old-maid school-teacher!” 

“But, Aunt Clem, I-” There was a hopeless 



16 CELIA’S CHOICE 

note in the girl’s voice, and her words trailed off into 
a sigh. 

“It was what I’d set my heart on for myself, Celia, 
but Fred Carson just wouldn’t listen to reason. He 
was all for marrying. It seems just like Providence 
to me that you can go right on-” 

“But, Aunt Clem!” The protest was weaker now, 
as though it were useless to disagree farther. 

Her aunt continued a bit dreamily, “It is kind of 
nice having men around, in a way, Celia, but—well, 
I always longed to be independent of them and not 
have to think about washing their shirts and brushing 
floury pants with grain all around the bottom cuffs. 
Fred being in the mill business made such a heap of 
extra work. And smelling tobacco smoke and old 
pipes! 

Her voice was wistful now, and low-toned. “I 
always had sort of planned a nice big room for just 
myself, with a row of windows where the sun could 
come in, some geraniums in pots, and verbenas; a 
shelf of books, with Jane Eyre , Lady Audley’s Se¬ 
cret , the Bible, and Riley’s poems, and maybe a book 
with pictures of Madonnas, and a geography. I al¬ 
ways loved to look up places on maps. I guess that’s 
one reason why Steve always hankered after the open 
spaces and never could settle down to the mill busi¬ 
ness, me being so fond of geography. 

“Well,” resignedly, “there’s no call to get your- 



A DECISION 


17 


self all upset about it now. When Steve comes back 
will be time enough to think of going to Normal. 
But I’d run along now, if I was you, and tell Mr. 
Duval how pleased you’ll be to take that position in 
his bank.” 

Celia did not stir. 

Sharp surprise was now in the look the old woman 
bent on her. 

“Celia-” she began, then stopped, for she 

knew now that something serious was wrong with her 
niece. Every line of the stiff, slender little figure sit¬ 
ting so tensely there below her gave ample proof. 

Her hand grasped a bit tighter the worn Bible ly¬ 
ing in her lap, as one would the hand of a dear friend 
when craving support. One needed so much wisdom 
in guiding the young. The wrong word at the wrong 
time might make a lifetime’s difference. 

“You’ll like it at the bank, Celia,” she said sooth¬ 
ingly. “All that marble and brass and mahogany! 
It’ll be nice working in a place like that.” 

“I’m not going into Mr. Duval’s bank!” 

“Not going into the bank? But, Celia-” 

The averted face turned slowly. “I’m not taking 
any more favors from the Duvals, Aunt Clem!” 

“Celia!” 

“I mean it, Aunt Clem! I don’t need the Duvals 
to offer me any positions. I’ll get my own!” The 
words were tumbling out in a steady flow. “I’m 




18 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


never going near the Duvals again as long as I live! 

They—they-” The tense, impassioned voice 

broke suddenly, and, leaning forward, she buried her 
head in her arms and began to sob passionately— 
great dry, shaking sobs. 

“Celia! Whatever on earth!” 

Laying her Bible hastily on the little table beside 
her, Mrs. Carson with a quick gesture hitched her 
chair close to Celia and drew the girl’s head into her 
lap. 

“There, there, Celia—don’t, dearie, don’t! You’ve 
got no call to talk that way about the Duvals. The 
Duvals have always been our friends. The Duvals 
—why, Celia—I just don’t know what we’d do with¬ 
out the Duvals.” 

“That’s just it, Aunt Clem! They’ve patronized 
us all our lives and made us like it! But now— 
now—” Hurt pride had given way to anger. “I 
won’t stand it! They sha’n’t say that I-” 

“What do you mean, Celia? Who is it that’s been 
turning you against them?” 

“Oh, Aunt Clem! We’ve been such fools—wor¬ 
shipping them—while they- If you knew what 

people say!” 

“What is it, Celia? Just a lot of silly schoolgirl 
talk?” 

The faded blue eyes peered over the rumpled 
curly head in her lap toward the big house below, 










A DECISION 


19 


whose lighted windows now revealed a portion of a 
wide portico and massed shrubs about it. The Duval 
house with its walled garden was one of the bulwarks 
of Clementine Carson’s life. As far back as she 
could remember, she had looked down into the 
Duvals’ garden with something of a sense of owner¬ 
ship. Hadn’t she nursed Perry Duval himself, when 
he was a boy, through all his childhood illnesses? 
Hadn’t she read her Bible to each of his parents when 
they had slipped so fearfully and reluctantly into the 
beyond? Hadn’t she nursed Angela, his daughter, 
time and again through minor illnesses, and assisted 
as best she could the stiff trained nurse brought from 
the city when Angela had nearly succumbed to 
pneumonia? Hadn’t she always been ready to help 
when unexpected company arrived, or at one of 
Angela’s parties, or at some of her mother’s more 
sedate entertainments—women’s club meetings, hos¬ 
pital board meetings, or what not ? Why, the whole 
town knew how close she had always felt to the 
Duvals! And hadn’t Angela and Celia always 
played together, from the time Celia came to her 
until just last year when they sent Angela off to 
boarding-school ? 

The wrinkled old hand wandered soothingly over 
the tumbled brown curls. 

“Just you don’t pay any attention to them, Celia. 
Schoolgirls! A lot they know about it 1” 


20 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“But it’s true, Aunt Clem!” 

Celia sat erect now. “It’s all true, what they say! 
I’ve been thinking and thinking. I can see now that 
it’s been true all along. We’ve been blind. We’ve 
gone on loving them and worshipping them while 
they’ve just been looking down on us and pitying us 
because we cared for them. Oh, can’t you see they 
don’t deserve to have us love them?” She drew in 
her breath to stifle the sob in her voice. She wanted 
to cry, “And I dont love Angela! I never did! I 
loved her beauty! I loved her pretty blue eyes, her 
bright golden hair, her soft pretty hands, her ex¬ 
quisite clothes. I loved her pretty playthings. I 
loved their garden—the tulips and hyacinths, the 
roses, the clematis. I loved their house because of 
the lovely things in it, though I never did love them!” 
But she had no wish to let her aunt discover how pas¬ 
sionately she loved beauty. It was too close to her, 
too sacred a thing to share with any one. 

“But, Celia, dear, what makes you think that they 
look down on us? I’m sure-” 

“Oh, Aunt Clem! I heard Julia Winters telling 
Sue Berkeley. It was the last day of school. I was 
alone in the cloak-room and they were in the hall. 
They didn’t know I was there. They talked a lot 
about how Angela and I used to be so intimate when 
we were small, but, now that we were growing up, 
the Duvals didn’t mean to let our friendship con- 




A DECISION 


21 


tinue. It was why they sent Angela to boarding- 
school, to get her away from me! They wanted her 
to meet other girls—rich girls—with social back¬ 
grounds!” 

“Now, now, Celia!” The wrinkled hands trem¬ 
bled, and the troubled blue eyes clouded a moment 
with tears. Life was so hard for the young. They 
felt things so keenly. Their hurts were such trage¬ 
dies. She lifted the bowed head. “Just don’t you 
pay any attention, Celia, to what people say. If 
Steve was home, you wouldn’t have to work, but— 
well, it just wouldn’t seem nice to Mr. Duval, Celia, 
if you refused to work in his bank or his store when 
he knows you’ve got nothing else but the pottery in 
view.” 

“But don’t you understand, Aunt Clem, that's the 
only reason he offered me a position. They don’t 
want me to be friends with Angela, but they want me 
to come and help them when they need me, and if I 
work in the pottery, I’ll be too low in the scheme 
of things to have around! I’d contaminate their 
guests!” 

“Oh, Celia! It’s wicked to talk so!” 

“But it’s true! Besides, I love the pottery! It’s 
lots more interesting—than hardware—and bank- 
ing!” 

“Maybe so, to you, Celia, but it’s just as they 
know. You’ll be cut off not only from the Duvals, 





22 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


if you go to work there, but from all the other young 
people you’ve gone to school with.” 

There was silence for some time; then Celia said 
sadly but firmly, “Going to work in the pottery won’t 
change me one bit, Aunt Clem. And I mean to show 
Julia and the others that I’ve some pride-” 

“Yes, I guess you have some pride, Celia, but I’m 
afraid it’s not the right sort. One can have pride and 
yet be humble. The Duvals are thinking of your 
welfare, Celia, and I know it. The pride that cuts 
one off from opportunities that will improve one 
and may never come again—that’s a foolish sort of 
pride, Celia.” 

She sighed and sat silent, her hand reaching to 
touch the Bible on the table beside her. How could 
she make this girl-child, this little orphan grandniece 
who had come to her when little more than a baby, 
realize how important were the right contacts for a 
young girl? If only she were not so old and half- 
crippled with rheumatism! Try as she would, she 
could not seem to make Celia realize that a girl can¬ 
not be too careful in her conduct or in her choice of 
companions and situations. It had been so hard to 
keep up with the active child, and it was with real 
dismay that she learned of Celia’s discovery of the 
pottery on the other side of the railroad tracks and 
of her constant and growing interest in it. She had 
done her utmost to keep her away, for a pottery was 




A DECISION 


23 


in her estimation no place for a small girl. To coun¬ 
teract its increasing interest, she had done everything 
she could to promote her niece’s friendship with 
Angela Duval. But though Celia seemed to enjoy 
every moment spent with the Duvals, there was no 
apparent lessening of her interest in the pottery, 
though, as she grew older, she became more and more 
silent about her visits to it. 

To ease her own conscience in the matter, Mrs. 
Carson made it her business to become acquainted 
with the group of foreigners who worked there, and 
it was with considerable relief that she found the 
little colony of Czechs a gentle and peaceful group. 
Her own goodness of heart in time caused her to be¬ 
come something in the nature of a guardian angel 
to them, teaching them many American customs and 
easier ways of living. To old Jared Stornoff, who 
made the hand-turned pieces on the wheel, and his 
wife Melby, she became a real friend, for she soon rec¬ 
ognized the worth of the rugged old couple. 

But it was nevertheless with considerable unhap¬ 
piness that she regarded the girl at her knees, for 
she well knew how most others in the little town 
looked down upon the pottery workers. 

“Seems like I just can’t bear to have you go into 
the pottery, Celia,” she said finally, “even though 
they’re such good folks. Being among them all 



24 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“I sha’n’t be among them. I’ll be upstairs in the 
room with old Jared. Oh, Aunt Clem, please don’t 

scold! If you knew how I love-” Celia drew in 

her breath in a long sigh. It was so hard to talk of 
her love for the clay, to try to make her aunt under¬ 
stand that strange exhilarating thrill when she felt 
it soft and pliant between her fingers. 

“Well, I know Jared’ll look after you, Celia, and 
they’ll all treat you with the utmost courtesy as long 
as you do right, but I can’t help thinking you’re mak¬ 
ing a dreadful mistake, choosing to take a position 
in a factory instead of a nice clean position in the 
Duvals’ bank. Well, maybe you’ll tire of the pot¬ 
tery after a bit. You better tell Mr. Duval you’re 
just trying it temporarily, so if you do change your 
mind-” 

“I’m not going to change my mind, Aunt Clem!” 

“Dear me, Celia, I never knew a girl your age to 
be so headstrong. Well, Angela’ll be home to-mor¬ 
row. I’m sure when you see her-” 

“I won’t have any time to see Angela, Aunt 
Clem,” a hint of bitterness in her voice. 

“Well, maybe not. But run along and tell Mr. 
Duval your decision before he goes to bed. I’m sure 
I’m sorry. They won’t be overly pleased, after being 
so kind-” 






CHAPTER II 


THE PATH DIVIDES 

With a despairing gesture, Celia arose. She 
might have known it would be useless to say any¬ 
thing to her aunt against the Duvals. Slowly she 
walked down the sloping path to the little wooden 
gate. 

“It’s the very last time I mean to go near them,” 
she said to herself. 

There was no use, she knew, in saying anything 
more to her aunt. Her aunt was old. Her ideas on 
some subjects were fixed. You just couldn’t make 
her understand. She would never be able to see the 
Duvals as they really were. 

She lifted with gentle hands a long spray of fra¬ 
grant lilac that hung over the gate, paused to sniff 
it, then gently swung it into place as she closed the 
gate behind her. 

No, there wasn’t the least bit of use in saying any¬ 
thing against the Duvals to Aunt Clem, she reflected 
as she went down the slope. She would never have 
said what she had if it hadn’t been necessary to ex- 

20 


26 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


plain why she wouldn’t accept one of the positions 
that Mr. Duval had offered her. She wished rue¬ 
fully now that she had not let her emotions run away 
with her as she had. There was no need for her to 
make old Aunt Clem unhappy over it, too; no need 
to let her know how bitter she felt. 

To tell the truth, she had been vaguely conscious 
for a long time of the widening gulf between herself 
and Angela Duval, though it had been a considerable 
shock to know that others gossiped about it. That 
had hurt keenly—that and the other things they had 
said, things that it would not have done to tell Aunt 
Clem. They had called her and her aunt the Duvals’ 
unpaid servants. The Duvals had simply taken 
them for fools, getting all they could out of them all 
these years; and now that Angela was growing up, 
they intended that she should mix in much higher 
society than 1STewtonville aff orded. Was it any won¬ 
der that Mr. Duval had offered her a position? 
What would people think of Angela, to have been 
friends with a girl who now worked in a pottery? 
Besides, they still wanted Celia’s help when they en¬ 
tertained, for it saved them the expense of hiring 
extra maids, and how could they have her if she 
lowered herself by going to work in the pottery, 
especially as she had once been on such intimate 
terms with them? It simply would not look well. 

It was true, she said bitterly to herself over and 



THE PATH DIVIDES 


27 


over as she moved slowly along. The Duvals had 
used them. Hadn’t Aunt Clem gone over there 
time and again to help? Hadn’t she herself assisted 
Mrs. Duval many times, setting the tables when she 
entertained, pressing some of her finest linens, pol¬ 
ishing the fragile china and glassware? 

The praise Mrs. Duval gave her had been reward 
enough. 

“I couldn’t trust every one with my treasures, 
Celia,” she would say. 

Celia’s heart had warmed many times to Mrs. 
Duval when she said such things, and she would have 
done anything Mrs. Duval asked of her just for the 
pleasure of handling the lovely things and of hear¬ 
ing her say, “You have such exquisite taste, Celia.” 
She would never forget the day Mrs. Duval had said, 
“I think I’ll always have you arrange the flowers 
when I entertain. You do know how to make the 
rooms look so charming!” 

And Celia had known. It became one of her 
greatest pleasures to fill the vases and jars and tall 
baskets from the fragrant abundance of the Duvals’ 
garden. 

One thing had led to another. It was not long 
before Mrs. Duval was allowing her to mend the 
delicate lace in some of Angela’s fragile undergar¬ 
ments and adding a bit of silken handwork to some 
of the simpler things. 


28 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


To Celia, those hours had been nothing but the 
utmost pleasure, sitting beside Mrs. Duval in a low 
basket-chair under the great beech at the side of the 
house, looking up into Mrs. Duval’s sweet, placid 
face, a bit full, as was her short matronly figure, the 
soft light-brown hair combed into a smooth roll over 
the top of her head, her flounces of flowered voile 
falling softly about her, her arm and hand moving 
in graceful gestures as she plied her needle, while 
Angela lounged in the hammock, alternately yawn¬ 
ing and flicking the pages of an expensive beautifully 
illustrated book, reading bits aloud, humming a new 
song, chatting about clothes, or fretting about some¬ 
thing that irked her. 

It was all so lovely to Celia—those hours, the quiet 
of the garden broken only by the buzzing of insects 
among the flowers, the varied scents that drifted 
from the massed blooms about them, the lacy pat¬ 
terns the sun made over them and the grass as it 
glinted through the drooping branches of the big 
beech, and the delicate beauty of Angela—her hair 
spun gold where the long shafts of sunlight reached 
to touch it, her skin white as milk, though glowing 
faintly at cheeks and chin as by some faint rose radi¬ 
ance within, lips red as the ruby in the ring she 
twisted about her slender finger when she wearied 
of her book. 

It was all so beautiful, so perfect, that sometimes 



29 


THE PATH DIVIDES 

Celia’s chest would swell with emotion. And the 
satisfying qualities of the cold lemonade and the 
cookies which dark Selina brought out to them! 

But now she thought bitterly of it all. Oh, why 
had she been so blind, thinking they were fond of 
her, as fond as she was of them, when all the time 
they were nice to her only because of the help she 
gave them so willingly? 

Well, it was all over now. No longer would she 
assist Mrs. Duval with her flowers, her linens, her 
china, her mending and embroidery in exchange for 
a cooky, lemonade and cake, a bonbon or two, the 
privilege of sitting in her garden worshipping 
Angela, to be shooed home when callers came or 
when other interests offered. 

How often had she heard Mrs. Duval say, “You’ll 
have to run along now, Celia,” a slightly impatient 
note in her voice! “Angela will have to dress. We’re 
expecting callers,” or “Yes, you’ve arranged the 
flowers beautifully, so there, dear, help yourself to 
two of the bonbons on the buffet as you go out.” 

It had been so different when they wanted her. 
“Could you come over, Celia? Angela’s so fretful, 
and you do play so nicely together. I don’t know 
of any one who gets along quite so well with her as 
you do. It’s such a pleasure to see the two of you 
together!” 

Yes, all that was over now. She understood at 


30 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


last, fully. They wanted her when she could be use¬ 
ful to them or help them idle away the time until 
better things beckoned, but they didn’t love her as she 
had loved them. 

She swallowed a lump in her throat and blinked 
her eyelashes rapidly as she opened the little green 
gate in the red brick wall that surrounded the Duvals’ 
garden. When you loved things, people, it was hard 
to give them up, even when you knew they didn’t 
love you. She knew, too, that though she had de¬ 
clared emphatically to herself only a short time ago 
that she did not love Angela, she really did love her. 
She would always love Angela. She just couldn’t 
help it. She just couldn’t help loving anything so 
lovely as Angela was to look upon. 

Slowly she went up the flagged path and around 
to the front of the house. She longed to pause and 
touch each plant and shrub as had always been her 
custom, for they were dear, though silent, friends, 
but she did not stop. There was no need of adding 
to her pain. 

Mrs. Duval arose with a flutter from her chair on 
the portico as she rounded the corner of the house. 

“How you startled me, Celia!” she exclaimed, a 
mixture of surprise and annoyance in her voice. 

“I’m sorry-” 

“Oh, my dear,” in warmer tones, “it’s quite all 
right. I was just sitting here dreaming. Mr. 



31 


THE PATH DIVIDES 

Duval’s busy in the library and I- You know 

Angela is coming to-morrow. It seems an age. 
Come up and sit down. I know you came to hear 
about her. She did so well in her studies and has 
made some very interesting friendships.” 

Celia did not move. She had no intention of get¬ 
ting within range of the hall light that made one sec¬ 
tion of the portico as bright as day. 

“I came to tell Mr. Duval,” she said in rather flat 
tones, “that I—thank him—Aunt Clem thinks it so 
kind of him—but—but I won’t be able to accept 
either of the positions he offered me.” 

“Why, Celia!” Mrs. Duval arose and moved 
quickly toward her. “Surely you don’t mean—that 
you’re-” 

“Yes, Mrs. Duval, I’m going into the pottery.” 
She tried to keep the elation out of her voice, for she 
was glad just then, immensely glad, to let them know 
this once that she did not want their help. “I’m to 
help in old Jared Stornoff’s department.” 

“Oh, not really, Celia!” 

Celia nodded. Then came the sickening realiza¬ 
tion that this indeed was the end of her connection 
with the Duvals. 

“Surely, Celia, you don’t mean that you’re going 
down there to work among those foreigners!” 

Celia swallowed a lump in her throat and said, 
with genuine distress in her voice: 






32 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Yes, Mrs. Duval. They’re kind—those people. 
And you know I’ve always—loved the pottery.” 

Of a sudden she had a wild desire to fling out to 
Mrs. Duval: “They love me—those people at the 
pottery! I’m happy when I’m there! I can forget 
about you and Angela and your lovely home and 
garden. The pottery makes up for all the little 
hurts, and the big ones, too, that I’ve suffered here.” 

Would she ever forget them? They came rush¬ 
ing back—the memories of those slights. That first 
day when Mrs. Duval had found her reaching 
through the iron bars of the front gate to feel the 
petals of the deep velvety tulips that lined the walk! 

“Run away, you naughty, naughty child! How 
dare you touch my tulips!” 

She had softened under Celia’s tearful explana¬ 
tions that she had only wanted to feel them. They 
were so soft and lovely. Other memories—but she 
pushed them back resolutely. There was no need 
to dwell on them. Her work at the pottery would 
make up for all this. 

“But, my dear!” Mrs. Duval still seemed unable 
to comprehend. “You’ll be beyond the pale. You 
could never expect the young people you’ve gone 

to school with- You couldn’t expect to—to— 

my dear—you wouldn’t be quite the same to any of 
us!” 

Celia said nothing, as there seemed nothing to say. 





33 


THE PATH DIVIDES 

Mrs. Duval hurried on. “We were hoping you’d 
go into the bank, dear, though the pay to begin with 
wouldn’t be as much as in the store, but you’d have 
more time—if Angela or I needed you. She’ll be 
entertaining quite a bit, now that she’s a real young 
lady and has met such interesting young people. 

You’d enjoy being- You’ll miss seeing it all, 

Celia. It would be so difficult, Celia, explaining 
you to the young folks if you work in the pottery. 

Now, at the bank- Really, Celia, I don’t see how 

we’ll manage without you. I had counted-” 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Duval. I—quite understand. 
You won’t need to—try—to explain me. I expect 
to be rather busy. They’re working overtime some, 
you know. If you’ll—just—tell Mr. Duval—I—I 
do thank him.” 

“He’ll be disappointed, Celia. He thinks you’re 
a bright girl, and it wouldn’t be long before you’d be 
promoted, I’m sure. Hadn’t you better reconsider 
your decision? It’ll hurt Angela, too, I know, to 
think of you working in that dirty place.” 

Celia turned away. She could imagine the little 
moue of distaste Angela would make when she heard 
it. More than once she had tried to tell Angela of 
the fascinations of the pottery, but Angela always 
hushed her abruptly. There couldn’t possibly be 
anything interesting about those old drab buildings. 
She didn’t want Celia ever to talk about them again. 








34 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Well, I’m certainly sorry, Celia,” Mrs. Duval 
called after her somewhat impatiently. “You’re cer¬ 
tainly making a dreadful mistake.” 

Celia made no reply. Sudden tears were blinding 
her. She stumbled somehow through the darkness, 
found the little gate in the rear wall, crossed the 
road, and went slowly up the slope. 

Julia Winters had been right, she thought bitterly. 
They had counted on her to take the position in the 
bank so that she would have time to help Mrs. Duval 
and Angela when they wanted her. No, she thought 
bitterly, it wouldn’t be hard to explain to Angela’s 
new friends that the girl who arranged the flowers, 
helped with the refreshments, ran upstairs for the 
bathing suits, kept the magazines in order, hung up 
the wraps, and did all the little things expected of a 
maid was one of the girls from the bank. 

“Just happens to live in the neighborhood, you 
know,” she could hear Mrs. Duval explaining, “and 
simply worships Angela!” 

It would all have been intolerable to Celia, had it 
not been for the knowledge that the pottery was wait¬ 
ing. What did she care what they thought of her 
for working there! They couldn’t possibly know 
how fascinating to her was the feel of the moist clay 
in her fingers. They couldn’t understand that 
strange hunger of hers to make things with the clay. 
And there she wouldn’t be taking favors from any 


35 


THE PATH DIVIDES 

one, pushed aside when in the way and beckoned en¬ 
ticingly when they wanted her help. 

Aunt Clem was still on the porch. She looked in¬ 
tently at the slim figure of the girl coming slowly 
up the slope and sighed deeply. 

If Celia’s parents had only lived, how different 
life might have been for her! Her mother’s music— 
her father’s learning. Not much money, no. Latin 
professors never get very far along the road to mate¬ 
rial things. And if Fred hadn’t lost the little bit of 

money they had left for Celia- But how could 

he have anticipated the failure of the bank in which 
he had placed it? 

Her wrinkled hands clutched the Bible she had 
again takep into her lap. 

So mysterious were His ways! “Whom He lov- 
eth He chasteneth.” 

How could some people live without the comfort 

of such words from the Holy Book? But even so, 

%/ 

it was hard—hard to understand—hard to bear. 
Just why should Celia’s mother, her only niece, and 
Celia’s father have to meet an untimely death be¬ 
neath the wreck of a motor car? It had been hard, 
too, to have to separate Celia from her only brother, 
to give him into the hands of strangers, even though 
there wasn’t the least doubt in her mind that the 
strangers could do far more for him than she could. 
But it was harder still to see Celia, whom she had 





36 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


taken to rear, grow up with so few opportunities for 
development, and to know that she must take up the 
burden her own son Steve should have shouldered— 
the care and support of his old mother, becoming 
each day more frail and unfit to guide the growing 
girl who would never seem to her more than a dear 
and somewhat wilful child. 

Yes, even with the comfort of the Book, life was 
hard. Not that it mattered about oneself, but it was 
hard to see Celia suffer; hard to see the eager, glow¬ 
ing flame in the brown eyes change to somber, bitter 
hardness; hard to know that the girl had deliberately 
cut herself off from all contact with the things that 
had always meant so much to her. For she knew how 
passionately Celia loved beauty, though the girl be¬ 
trayed the fact to no one. Hadn’t she seen, ever 
since Celia was a tiny girl, the look of adoration in 
her eyes when she came to show her the first golden 
dandelion to be found on the slope, the first purple 
violet from the clusters along the fence? Hadn’t 
she marveled at the expression on her face when she 
watched the changing panorama of the sky as the 
sun sank down beyond the pottery and the group 
of houses beyond? Didn’t she know just exactly the 
depth of her love for the beauty of the Duvals’ gar¬ 
den, the lovely possessions that made the house a 
realm of delight to the small girl? Long ago she 
had sensed and learned to respect the reserve that 


THE PATH DIVIDES 


37 


kept Celia from confiding what lay so near her heart. 

And she had chosen that dreary, drab pottery in 
which to work! When the fascination of its revolv¬ 
ing machinery wore off, as it undoubtedly would, 
once she became a paid worker there, what was to 
become of her, with her unconscious craving for the 
lovelier things of life? Those people who worked 
there—good, of course, but not the sort who could 
satisfy Celia, once she had probed the shallow depths 
of their inert minds. 

She looked unhappily but hopefully upon her 
niece as she came up the porch steps. Perhaps Mrs. 
Duval had been able to make her see her mistake. 
Then she sighed deeply as Celia’s voice came clearly: 

“I’m going to bed, Aunt Clem. The pottery be¬ 
gins work at seven-thirty, you know.” 



CHAPTER III 


CELIA CARSON 

When Celia reached her low-ceilinged room at 
the top of the narrow flight of stairs, she did not go 
to bed. She sat down on its edge in the darkness and 
stared unseeingly out of the opened window, through 
which drifted the scent of honeysuckle from the vine 
that clung about the window frame. After a time 
she arose, lighted the little oil lamp on her dresser, 
and took an old ledger and pencil from a shelf that 
held a miscellaneous collection of schoolbooks and 
battered magazines. 

Taking the book on her lap, she sat down in the 
low rocker and idly turned its pages. As far back 
as she could remember she had written to Ted, her 
brother, in this book, for it seemed to her that Ted, 
no matter where he was, must still be caring as much 
for her as she did for him, and would therefore be 
as interested in her life as she was in his. And in 
spite of the fact that her aunt had said that the people 
who had adopted him had insisted there be no inter¬ 
course between Ted and his few relatives, she was 


38 


CELIA CARSON 


39 


sure that some day he would come to find her, though 
she never expressed this belief to her aunt. She 
knew her aunt had wanted to impress upon her the 
uselessness of still clinging to the memory of him. 

She had been told more than once of the people 
who had discovered the wrecked car in which her 
parents were killed, and of their delight in the small 
boy, unconscious but unhurt, beside the road. So 
like their own son who had died a few months before 
was he that they had begged to be allowed to adopt 
him. Unstrung with grief over the loss of her only 
niece and her niece’s husband, and worn with the care 
and anxiety of her own husband’s long illness and 
consequent business difficulties, Mrs. Carson had 
succumbed to their pleadings, especially as Ted 
seemed as eager to belong to them as they were to 
have him. But, much as she regretted the separa¬ 
tion of sister and brother, it seemed to be flying in the 
face of Providence to refuse, for Ted would be as¬ 
sured of a good home and education, besides inherit¬ 
ing the comfortable, if not great, estate of his foster- 
parents. 

The thing that troubled her most was their in¬ 
sistence that no communication ever be made with 
Ted. Had Celia been more than four, she might not 
have yielded, but she knew that the years often bring 
forgetfulness. And Celia was such a gay, happy 
little thing, seemingly so content in her new sur- 


40 CELIA’S CHOICE 

roundings, that she tried to think it was all for the 
best. 

And though Celia talked of her brother constantly 
at first, she became more and more silent when she 
realized her aunt’s reluctance to speak of him. It was 
then that she found the old ledger and began writing 
to him of all the occurrences in her daily life. 

It was strange how real he seemed at times, though 
it had been years since she had seen him. And 
though she knew he must by now be nearly a man, 
he would always remained fixed in her memory as a 
laughing, rowdy small boy pouring sand down her 
back, or teasing her kitten, or picking her up when 
she had fallen down and dusting her knees and frock. 

And again she would become frantic at her in¬ 
ability to picture him. She would try to recall the 
exact color of his hair, the shape of his face, his 
bodily outline, but always the picture she tried to 
evoke in her mind was too hazy to grasp. He might 
have been like any small boy in Newtonville for all 
she could recall. 

Then terror would creep into her thoughts when 
she thought of his f orgetting her. Could he have be¬ 
come indifferent, have forgotten her completely? 
Boys were so different from girls. But then Ted 
was her brother. He wouldn’t forget her. 

And so she wrote to him of all that went on in Aunt 
Clem’s little house atop the knoll that overlooked 


CELIA CARSON 


41 


Newtonville. She told him of the vegetable garden 
with the fat cabbages, the tall bean vines, the green 
onion spears, the lacy lettuce, the plump red toma¬ 
toes. She told him of the lilacs and rosebushes; the 
honeysuckle where tiny red long-billed humming¬ 
birds came to suck the honey from the waxen flowers; 
the clump of pines on the slope that housed a pair of 
turtledoves. She told him of the big red brick house 
of the Duvals with its rose garden, its trellises and 
arbors covered with purple and white wisteria, its 
marble seats and bird baths, its formal flower beds, 
and the tulips along the walk. She was determined 
that he miss nothing of all these delightful experi¬ 
ences that filled her life. She told him of Uncle 
Fred’s dying, of Uncle Steve always going off and 
coming back unexpectedly, of how the mill had had 
to be sold, and how Aunt Clem’s rheumatism got 
worse all the time. 

Her sentences were stiff at first, but she wrote as 
best she could, and gradually the words came 
easier. 

She told him in detail of the pottery—that place 
of magic to her. The day of its discovery had been an 
exciting one. Angela had been cross that day. She 
had not wanted Celia even to touch any of her play¬ 
things, and so Mrs. Duval had sent Celia away. 
Puzzled and considerably hurt because she knew that 
she had not deserved Angela’s irritation, and know- 



42 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


ing that Aunt Clem would be dozing over her darn¬ 
ing, she wandered down the dusty road that led to 
the drab, ramshackle buildings along the railroad 
tracks. The great piles of coal and cinders had set 
her to guessing. Then she discovered the heap of 
broken pottery. It was wonderland . She hunted 
excitedly for the broken bits of colored ware. She 
loved colors. The pockets of her gingham frock 
sagged with the weight of the pieces she picked up. 

Growing bolder and filled with curiosity about the 
great dingy buildings that had disgorged these glori¬ 
ous bits of color for her, she strolled along the open 
sheds where great stacks of crocks awaited shipment, 
and watched the men at work. 

After that, she did not mind so much when Angela 
was cross and Mrs. Duval sent her away. The pot¬ 
tery was always waiting. 

There were days when she would watch for hours 
the loading of the crocks and tiles into the freight 
cars. As time passed, her curiosity emboldened her 
to linger in the doorways and to make friends with 
the men. 

They told her at different times of the processes 
through which the clay went. She learned of the 
great pit beyond the lake where the clay was mined 
and brought to the pottery; how it was allowed to 
dry and then ground to a powder, after which water 
was added and all foreign substances removed, and 


CELIA CARSON 


43 


then how it was finally worked by machinery into a 
soft plastic mass. 

It grew more and more interesting to Celia, and 
each day she learned something new about this dingy 
but fascinating place—how the moist clay was fash¬ 
ioned into various receptacles, dipped into the great 
vats of glaze, and then fired in the great ovens. 

At times she would be ordered out, but always she 
came back. The foreman, seeing her fascinated gaze 
as she looked at the machinery and the great belts 
whirring overhead or watched the workmen who 
shaped the huge crocks, finally permitted her to come 
and go as she wished. 

She grew to love the sheds where the crocks, bowls, 
and other wares were piled in great pyramids to the 
ceiling, but best of all she loved the furnace-room, 
where the great round brick ovens sent out withering 
blasts of heat. She loved to watch the men before 
the flickering fires of the open hearths about the 
ovens and imagine, as they brought out the fired 
pieces, that they were genii who had worked some 
sort of magic with the dull gray pieces of clay that 
had been taken in. It was some time before she 
learned that it was the firing which brought out the 
lovely colors of the glaze. 

Then she learned about old Jared Stornoff up¬ 
stairs, who made the finest pieces by hand. Though 
he was greatly loved by all, she soon learned that he 



44 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


wasn’t one to be bothered with a young one; she’d 
have to stay on the first floor, they told her. The 
temptation was more than she could stand, however, 
so she climbed the shed under his window and 
watched him from the outside. 

She told Ted as best she could how the clay came 
in time to mean so much to her. She even told him 
how she had once picked up a lump of moist clay from 
old Jared’s table and had taken it home. That had 
been a dreadful experience, for never had she seen 
Aunt Clem so angry before. 

“To take something that isn’t your own is very 
wrong!” she had scolded. 

“But it just seemed to stick to my fingers, Aunt 
Clem! It just seemed as if it wanted to be in my 
hands!” she tried to explain shrilly in self-defense. 
“It was so soft and nice!” 

“Well, then, you could have held it a moment and 
put it back again!” 

“But when I held it, it began to feel real , Aunt 
Clem!” 

“Real? Of course it was real!” 

“I mean real —like a kitty—maybe! Alive!” 

“Nonsense, Celia! Take that lump of clay and 
put it right back where you found it!” 

And Celia, with reluctant steps, had returned to 
the pottery, climbed to the top of the shed that 
stretched below old Jared’s window, and returned 



CELIA CARSON 


45 


the clay to its rightful place, not, however, without 
a regretful sigh. 

It was the beginning of old Jared’s interest in her. 
He had so far only tolerated her, but when he found 
her returning the clay and listened to her explana¬ 
tions, his tolerance grew into real interest. He gave 
her the lump of clay, and she carried home trium¬ 
phantly to Aunt Clem the image of a kitten he had 
formed for her with it. 

She went to sleep that night with the moist clay 
kitten against her cheek and awoke in the morning 
to find it a hard formless mass. Her consternation 
when she found that she had slept on it and ruined 
it was changed to amazed delight when she dis¬ 
covered that, by moistening it and kneading it 
smoothly as she had seen Jared do, she was able to 
work it back into something of its original shape. 
And she found that she could make other things with 
it besides kittens. It became in time a whole zoo, 
all in one. 

This was a fascinating pastime, and it made up 
for much of Angela’s neglect and irritation. As she 
grew older, the clay took on the shape of things other 
than animals. Sometimes it would be an imitation 
of some of the pieces she saw at the pottery, some¬ 
times it would be a little figure—a fat man, a slender 
boy, a chubby child, and sometimes just a laughing 
head with exaggerated features. It came in time 



46 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


to mean almost as much to her as Angela and the 
Duvals’ lovely garden, almost as much as Ted. 
Every few days she would find it necessary to change 
its shape. Her fingers seemed happiest when han¬ 
dling the soft, plastic stuff. It gave her a new sort 
of confidence in herself. 

“I could do that,” she told old Jared once, when he 
was putting the handle on an exceptionally graceful 
urn. 

He challenged her to come in and try. She did, 
and though she did not succeed, it was not long be¬ 
fore he was showing her just how it was done, and 
when orders were slack and there was time to spare, 
he showed her how to shape the clay on the whirler. 
She loved the feel of the soft mass as it rose and fell 
under her fingers. Its fascination for her was end¬ 
less. Many times it grew into funny pudgy shapes, 
not at all like Jared’s, but it gave her a feeling that 
she was dealing in magic of some sort. The stuff 
seemed to possess life under her hands. 

She and Jared became great friends, and when he 
knew she must do something to help support her aunt 
and herself, it was through him that she was given 
an opportunity to work there, trimming the rough 
edges of the pieces that came from the molds and re¬ 
ceiving fairly good pay. 

She sat for some time, turning the leaves of the 


CELIA CARSON 47 

big book slowly, reading a line or two as she went 
along. 

So childish—this writing to a brother who had no 
doubt long ago forgotten her! Just one of her child¬ 
ish delusions—his coming back—like her delusions 
about the Duvals being as fond of her as she was of 
them! 

Her red lips curled scornfully. What a silly little 
fool she had been all these years! Well, her eyes 
were open at last. She knew now for a certainty 
just how little she had ever meant to the Duvals. 

And no doubt it was the same with Ted, she 
thought bitterly. The adored son of wealthy parents 
would hardly be interested in a sister who worked 
in a pottery! 

She closed the book sharply, pulled open a drawer 
of the dresser, and flung the book into it. She was 
a child no longer. Why continue to dwell on child¬ 
ish fancies? Ted was the same as dead to her, just 
as the Duvals now were. Long ago Aunt Clem had 
tried to make it all very clear about Ted, but she had 
stubbornly gone on hoping and caring. What a fool 
she was! 

Well, all that was over now. To-morrow she would 
start anew, with no more illusions. She would be 
just one of the pottery workers. But she would do 
her best. She would learn all she could, and maybe 
—some day—No, she wouldn’t dream any more use- 




48 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


less dreams. She would work, and love it. It was 
safe to love work. Besides, it was all there was left 
to do just now. Angela Duval and her alluring 
surroundings were definitely out of her life. She 
meant to cease even to think of them. 


CHAPTER IV 


A SYMPHONY IN BLUE 

As the days and weeks passed, Celia’s hurt grad¬ 
ually lessened, and she became more and more ab¬ 
sorbed in her work and in everything connected with 
the pottery. 

To her aunt, who watched her anxiously and lov¬ 
ingly, she seemed to grow a little more slender, her 
chin a little more firm, her eyes a little bit harder; 
rarely now did they dance with excitement as they 
used to do when she told of things at the Duvals’— 
the purchase of some deep green velours portieres, 
the lovely carvings of a new chair, some new gold- 
etched goblets so fragile one hardly dared touch 
them. Even her ringleted brown head seemed to 
have changed. There was a new poise in the way 
she carried it. 

She talked less than ever before and read more. 
Books had become her sole recreation aside from her 
daily swim in the lake, which lay about a quarter of 
a mile to the west of them. 

Often her aunt complained of her silence or of her 


49 


50 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


complete absorption in her books. She longed more 
than once to say, “Run over and see Angela for a bit, 
Celia. You need some young company,” but she did 
not. She knew by the set, stern expression on the 
slender face that Celia and Angela were definitely 
now of two different worlds. It was hard not to 
chatter about the Duvals. All her life she had talked 
of the Duvals to Celia. Yet, though it grieved her 
inexpressibly, she felt a certain satisfaction in the 
new Celia, for she recognized in the girl’s stubborn 
desire to stand on her own feet a strength of purpose 
her aunt had not guessed she owned. 

As for Celia, though there was no way in which 
she could manage to forget the Duvals entirely, since 
she had only to lift her eyes from Aunt Clem’s little 
porch to look down into the garden of the big house 
below them, after many long hours of rather bitter 
thinking she came at last to the decision that it was 
not fair to blame either Angela or Mrs. Duval for 
their lost friendship. 

“If I hadn’t been so blind, I’d have realized long 
ago that we couldn’t go on being friends,” she said 
to herself one evening as she sat on the porch, staring 
through the darkness down upon the big house below. 
“Any one else would have thought of it without hav¬ 
ing to be told. With all the Duvals have, of course 
they don’t want Angela to be friends with a girl 
who lives in a little house like this, who has about 


A SYMPHONY IN BLUE 


51 


three dresses to her name at one time, and who has 
to work for her living. I was the prize fool for not 
realizing it sooner.” 

Her lips came together into a firm straight line; 
then they quivered a bit as she said again to herself, 
“They have done a lot for me. I was lucky that they 
let me be Angela’s friend even for a time. I guess 
I’ll always remember how nice it was, playing in 
their garden, and all the lovely things they let me 
touch and see. I’ve had all that, anyway,” she added 
fiercely, “and I don’t expect ever to forget it. I 
guess I do love them, in a way, and always shall, but 
I’m just not good enough for Angela now, and I’ve 
got to face it. But I’m not going to be silly and make 
Aunt Clem unhappy. I’ve got the pottery. I guess 
the pottery makes up for losing the Duvals, even 
though I couldn’t ever make any one understand.” 

It did not surprise her that neither Angela nor her 
mother sent for her. She realized fully now that 
Mrs. Duval had intended to make it plain to her that, 
by accepting work in the pottery, she was definitely 
breaking the tie between them. Several times she 
saw them in their garden, but they did not look up 
nor wave as they used to do. 

Gradually she ceased to think about them at all. 
Her work was too absorbing. The feel of the moist 
clay in her hands held a spell for her that was end¬ 
less. The window ledge by her worktable always 


52 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


held some grotesque or amusing figure that she made 
in idle moments, though she was careful to hide it 
from sight whenever the manager, Mr. Creel, could 
be heard coming up the stairs. She had no desire to 
be rebuked by him. 

Old Jared would laugh heartily at times over some 
of them and nod his head appreciatively, and when 
he, too, had moments to spare, he let her take his 
place at the whirler. 

The pottery’s fascination for her grew daily. Al¬ 
ways there was the whirler to look forward to, a 
chance to feel the soft clay coming to life under her 
fingers, that grew more and more skilful as time 
passed. She hung in delight over each new design 
that Jared originated, and awaited with breathless 
interest the results that were brought from the ovens. 

She talked at great length with him of colors and 
tints, and, though he was careful to give away no 
secrets concerning the formulas of the various glazes, 
her intelligence and breathless absorption in the 
subject often prompted him to explanations he 
would have accorded no other employee. 

She asked countless questions, and begged to be 
told just how each of those lovely pieces of china and 
porcelain and glass she had seen at the Duvals had 
been made. But Jared could be very glum at times, 
and sometimes she wondered if he were not just a 
bit jealous of those who made the lovely things so 


53 


A SYMPHONY IN BLUE 

different from his own. And since he would not, 
or could not, tell her all she wanted to know, she be¬ 
gan to wonder if there were not books that told in 
detail about such things. Those bronze busts on the 
top of Mr. Duval’s bookcases, the alabaster figure 
of a dancing girl on the marble pedestal in Mrs. Du¬ 
val’s drawing-room—how had they been made? 

She became consumed with the desire to know. 
She haunted the library and pored over magazines, 
but found only a meagre amount of information. 

She was just a little ashamed of her interest in such 
things, since she well knew what people in Newton- 
ville thought of her for going to work in the pottery. 
It had not taken long for her to understand the mean¬ 
ing of their attitude toward her. Girls she had been 
friends with at school no longer called to her in pass¬ 
ing. When she met them in town, they passed her 
with an indifferent nod. She was fast coming to 
realize that, of her own choice, she had cut herself off 
entirely from all her former world. 

“But I don’t care!” she would flare out to herself. 
“The pottery means most to me!” 

And it did. Even through the intense heat of the 
long summer her interest did not wane, though the 
low roof, on which the sun beat fiercely, and the gray 
dust from the clay, which seemed to fill the whole 
building, made the place almost unbearably uncom¬ 
fortable at times. 


54 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


She longed fiercely to know more and more about 
the creating of those lovely objects she had so much 
admired at the Duvals’. In a sort of reluctant des¬ 
peration, she finally approached the librarian with 
her need. 

“Pottery? No, I believe not. We’ve never had 
any call for books on pottery.” There was a some¬ 
what reproachful note in the librarian’s voice. “We 
don’t have very much money, you know, and we try 
to get the books that will be of help or entertainment 
to the most people.” 

Disappointedly Celia turned away. She well 
knew how little the people of Newtonville cared 
about pottery. To them the pottery was only a 
group of drab, uninteresting buildings, fortunately 
on the edge of town, where the soot from its fires 
could not be too great a nuisance. They thought of 
the pottery, she knew, in terms of drain-tiles and 
roofing-tiles, of kraut jars and mixing-bowls. They 
seemed to know nothing of the lovely hand-turned 
pieces, a great roomful—vases, jars, jugs, mugs, and 
bowls, in all shapes and sizes and in beautiful soft 
colors—that were sent all over the world. 

She wished there were some way to create in the 
minds of the people of Newtonville the respect and 
admiration for the pottery that she felt for it. 

So intent on the subject was she one day on leaving 
the pottery that she failed to see the hand which 




55 


A SYMPHONY IN BLUE 

beckoned to her from a blue roadster that came pur¬ 
ring to a stop in front of the line of freight cars that 
blocked the street. 

It was not until a lilting girlish voice called, 
“Would you mind telling me if this is Newtonville?” 
that Celia turned swiftly, aware now of the luxurious 
blue roadster so close to her, as well as of the girl 
in the blue frock and blue felt hat pulled at a jaunty 
angle down over a pair of matching blue eyes. 

A little thrill of admiration shot through Celia. 
As she nodded assent, she put out an eager hand and 
with slim brown fingers caressed the highly polished 
fender of the blue car. As far back as she could re¬ 
member, she had had to touch things—beautiful 
things. It was just something she could not seem 
to help. 

“Where’ll I find the St. Nicholas Hotel?” the girl 
in the blue car asked. 

“It’s at Fourteenth and Main. You can’t miss it 
if you stay on this highway till you come to the 
Duvals’ place. Turn east there.” 

“Duvals’?” 

“The big red house with the walled garden on the 
left of this street.” 

The blue eyes looked thoughtful. “You don’t 
mean the hardware Duvals?” 

Celia nodded. “Hardware and bank Duvals,” she 
explained further. 



56 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Not Angela Duval?” the girl in blue insisted. 

“Yes, Angela. Do you know her?” 

“Well, rather. She was at Worthington Hall this 
last term. My school, you know. So this is her 
town!” with a swift appraising glance at the dingy 
pottery buildings to the left of her and the lumber 
yards to the right. 

Something in the smiling eyes brought Celia to a 
quick defense. 

“It’s not exactly Angela Duval’s town,” she said, 
a civic pride struggling for expression. “It has four 
churches, a high school, a gym, six factories, lots of 
stores, greenhouses, a movie house, a library, and— 
the pottery,” she ended, a little breathless but con¬ 
vincing. “The Duvals don’t own quite all of them, 
though they-” 

“That’s gratifying. I was afraid they might, after 
what I’ve seen of Angela. And you say you have 
a pottery? That it?” indicating the dingy buildings 
spread along the railroad tracks. “It looks— 
rather— Do you work there?” with a casual glance 
at Celia’s dusty blue overalls and the wide straw 
jimmy that shielded her face from the fierce rays of 
the late afternoon sun. 

“Yes!” Celia said quickly, a sudden note of defi¬ 
ance in her voice. Then, as she saw nothing but mild 
interest in the blue eyes, she added gently, “I love to 
work there.” 




A SYMPHONY IN BLUE 


57 


The blue eyes stared now. “Love to work—in 

that-” She did not finish her sentence, only 

glanced hastily at the jeweled watch on one slender 
wrist and looked off impatiently to the line of freight 
cars, which, with a jangling discord of brakes and 
couplings, now seemed about to be on their way. 
But, as they again halted noisily, she asked sharply, 
“Isn’t there some way of crossing these tracks up 
above?” nodding toward the right. “I’m in such 
a hurry!” 

“There’s no way unless you go back about half 
a mile,” Celia told her. “The Wakefield Lumber 
Yards run up to East Second,” nodding toward 
them. “But, if you’re in a hurry, you’d better go 
that way. There’s no telling when these cars will let 
us pass.” 

“Thanks. I’ll do that. Want to come along?” 

“You mean—me?” wide-eyed with surprise. 

“Who else ? The ride’ll cool you off,” opening the 
door invitingly. Then, snatching up a wisp of hand¬ 
kerchief from her lap and flicking it at her face, she 
complained, “My, it’s warm!” 

Celia looked wistfully at the open door, then 
down at her overalls, saturated with clay dust. 

“I’d spoil your cushions.” She slapped at one 
thigh and created a little cloud of gray dust. “It 
even gets in your hair,” she explained, “but I don’t 
mind much. The lake isn’t far.” 




58 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“And you have a lake, too?” the girl in blue asked, 
a bit too politely to suit Celia. 

“She’s making fun of this town,” she decided 
swiftly to herself. “I guess it does look like a small 
place compared to where she came from.” 

But the girl in blue disarmed her completely with 
another of her cordial smiles. 

“Come,” she urged. “What’s a little dust, more 
or less? Cars expect dust inside as well as out.” 

Without further protest, Celia succumbed com¬ 
pletely to the charm of the blue car and its owner 
and climbed in, reveling in the deep luxurious hum 
of the powerful motor as they swung about and out 
the asphalt road toward the cross street that would 
lead them to East Second Street. It was so easy to 
succumb to beauty and luxury. 

With a sidewise glance, she appraised the girl be¬ 
hind the wheel. 

“Something of Angela’s type,” she mused, “but 
I can’t imagine Angela picking up a factory girl in 
blue overalls. And the way she’s dressed! Blue 
from head to foot, shoes, beads, stockings, purse, hat, 
frock, and eyes! Not a discordant note!” she ex¬ 
ulted. 

And, in spite of her devotion to Angela’s beauty, 
she had to admit that Angela at her loveliest had 
never possessed a tenth of the assured charm of this 
girl beside her. 


A SYMPHONY IN BLUE 


59 


With other sidelong glances, she noted the silver 
fittings of the car, one hand meanwhile pressing lov¬ 
ingly into the deep velours of the cushioned seat. It 
had been so long since she had been near anything so 
lovely—except Jared’s vases. With a sudden glow 
of admiration, she reflected that this girl beside her 
was like one of them—perfect. 

“You know Angela?” the girl beside her inquired. 

“I live just back of the Duvals on the knoll.” 

“Then of course you’re friends.” 

“Yes—in a way,” hesitantly. 

She had no intention of confiding the extent of her 
friendship with Angela to a stranger, but she did 
somewhat want this girl beside her to know that she 
realized the very obvious gulf between them. 

“You see,” she explained, “the Duvals are 
wealthy. And Aunt Clem and I—well—I played 
with Angela when she was small, and we went to 
school together. Then last year she went to Worth- 
ington Hall, and now—I—I—work in the pottery.” 

She felt that that was explanation enough, but she 
could not help adding, “Aunt Clem thinks a lot of 
them. She’s always known them. They’ve been 
kind-” 

The girl beside her was nodding understandingly. 
They crossed the railroad at East Second and swung 
down the dirt road leading to the new highway that 
wound past the Duvals’ place. 







60 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Celia nodded toward it eagerly. 

“It’s the loveliest place in town,” she said, “and 
if you visit Angela, I know you’ll have a nice time,” 
unconscious of the sigh in her voice. 

“I’m not expecting to visit Angela,” the girl be¬ 
side her said; then added as though the idea had just 
occurred to her, “it depends on Had—on the way he 
reacts to the unexpected sight of his darling daugh¬ 
ter. If he’s delighted to see me, I’ll stay with him. 
If not, I may test the hospitality of the Duvals, for 
I have been urged rather often.” 

Celia smiled and nodded toward the corner. “You 
may let me out there by their wall.” 

“Mayn’t I take you up to your door?” with a 
glance toward the little house almost hidden by the 
clump of pines on the knoll above the big red house. 

“No,” Celia returned decisively. “It’s too steep 
for a car. I’ll just get out here.” 

“Well, I’ll be seeing you,” the girl in blue said 
smilingly as she brought the car to a stop. “That is, 
if I stay any time. Pottery, you know, is Dad’s 
hobby, and he may want to look the place over. Be¬ 
sides, I’m a little curious to find out what there is 
about such a place—to love. Now, whom do I ask 
for if I should come calling?” the blue eyes twinkling. 

“Celia Carson,” with a little laugh. 

Of course she was only joking, but it was nice of 
her to say that. 



A SYMPHONY IN BLUE 


61 


“Then, if Sally Vandever sends up her card at the 
pottery one of these days, you’ll know whom to ex¬ 
pect!” 

Again Celia laughed at the thought of any one’s 
sending up a calling card to her at the pottery; then 
with a lift of her hand she responded to the gay salute 
from the girl in blue. 


CHAPTER V 


AUNT CLEM SPEAKS HER MIND 

Slowly Celia moved up the path to the little 
house, her face glowing with pleasure, her brown eyes 
dreamily absorbed in speculation about the girl in 
the blue car. As she opened the wooden gate, she 
looked up in surprise at her aunt, who was waiting 
for her on the porch. 

Aunt Clem was unaccountably grim-looking. 

“My, Celia!” she exclaimed. “Whatever on earth 
do you mean riding home with strangers! And in 
such a car! In all my days I’ve never seen such a 
car here in Newtonville!” 

“No, I guess not, Aunt Clem.” Celia’s eyes 
shone at the memory of the car. 

The small figure in black and gray printed calico 
looked at her sharply. “I want to know, Celia! 
There I was in the kitchen, my hands all over flour, 
making biscuit for supper when I saw that car 
swinging around the Duvals’ corner—and you step¬ 
ping out! Haven’t I told you time and again-” 

“Oh, Aunt Clem, it was only a girl. A freight 

62 




AUNT CLEM SPEAKS HER MIND 63 


blocked the street. She was in a hurry. I told her 
about going back and up to East Second Street. 
She asked me to go along to cool off.” She turned 
and stared off over the housetops of the little town 
spread out below them. “Maybe we can see her 
when she gets to the top of Sixth Street!” 

“Now, why should I be craning my neck to see her , 
Celia?” Aunt Clem complained, but the interested 
light in her eyes belied her tones, and the slim, some¬ 
what bent figure strained unconsciously to draw it¬ 
self up to Celia’s height, and she followed the di¬ 
rection of Celia’s gaze with her faded blue eyes. 

Though she was often forced to frown upon Celia’s 
enthusiasms, they nevertheless helped to make life 
interesting, in spite of the fact that her worn body 
was often taxed to its utmost strength to respond to 
her niece’s never-failing energy. She missed them 
of late. The girl was growing so quiet. 

“Her name is Sally Vandever, Aunt Clem,” a 
wistful note in her voice. 

“Sally Vandever? What difference does it make 
what her name is, Celia ?” holding her apron out care¬ 
fully to catch any of the flour that might happen to 
drop from her hands to the clean porch floor. 

“She was all in blue, Aunt Clem! I wish you 
could have seen her!” staring off dreamily into the 
distance. 

“Celia,” the faded blue eyes full of anxiety, 


64 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“haven’t I told you time and again you mustn’t ever 
get in a car with a stranger?” 

“But this was a girl, Aunt Clem! And she didn’t 
seem at all like a stranger. She had the friendliest 
ways. She couldn’t have been much older than I,” 
musingly. 

“It don’t make one bit of difference, Celia! Girls 
that go tearing around in cars from one town to an¬ 
other are not the kind for you to be associating with,” 
her aunt said firmly. 

“Don’t worry, Aunt Clem; there’s no chance of 
my ever associating with her!” 

“No, I guess not, seeing as she’s from away from 
here, though just let me tell you one thing, Celia. 
Having money enough to fly around the country in 
imported cars, which was what that one looked like, 
don’t make her any better in the sight of God than a 
girl who takes care of her old aunt by working— 
in a pottery.” 

“Probably not, Aunt Clem,” softly. “The trou¬ 
ble is, God’s so far away. And nobody seems to 
bother much about what He thinks. It’s what peo¬ 
ple on the earth think that seems to count the most. 
But you needn’t worry. I’ll never see her again.” 

“Now, Celia! It’s not for you to question His 
ways. Doing the things that’s right in His sight is 
what counts.” 

Celia turned swiftly upon her; then slowly the 


AUNT CLEM SPEAKS HER MIND 65 


sudden spark in her eyes died. She had wanted to 
cry, “Well, then, why does He make such beautiful 
things—the flowers, the trees, the sunsets—if He 
doesn’t expect us to love beautiful things ? And how 
can He expect us to keep from wanting beautiful 
things?” But all she said was, “You’re right, of 
course, Aunt Clem.” 

There was no use in making her aunt unhappy by 
letting her think she longed for the fine things that 
there was no possible chance of her ever attaining. 
She knew, too, the impossibility of trying to make 
Aunt Clem understand that driving, ceaseless crav¬ 
ing that was alleviated only by the sight of some form 
of beauty and yet seemed intensified the more, the 
more she dwelt on the thought of it. It was like 
talking of God. Aunt Clem had talked to her of 
Him all her life, and yet to her He seemed strangely 
far off and unreal. 

But her aunt had understood the sudden flash in 
her eyes. She understood, too, Celia’s evident reluc¬ 
tance to share with her the thing that meant so much 
to her. Pushing back with one floury hand a wisp of 
gray hair that lay on her forehead, she said gently, 
“You know you chose to go into the pottery, Celia. 
You could have been in the bank, where it’s all marble 
and shining brass and mahogany, and you could have 
gone on being friends with Ange— that is-” 

“You mean I could have gone on helping them out 





66 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


when they needed some one. I could have listened 
when Angela told about the parties I wouldn’t be 
invited to. I could help her entertain—pass the 
sandwiches, arrange the flowers and favors—but I 
wouldn’t be expected to be one of the guests. Yes, 
Aunt Clem, and I would have gone on, thankful to 
be of use to them, if I’d thought they cared the least 
tiny bit—about me—but—but ” She swal¬ 
lowed hard and added, “I’ll never be anything but 
glad that I chose the pottery!” 

“Now, Celia, it’s wicked to be so bitter.” 

“But I’m not bitter, Aunt Clem! I’m just 
awake. I’m just being sensible.” 

“Yes, I s’pose so, in a way, but it’s hard to have 
you think unkindly about folks that’s always meant 
so much to you. I guess it’s just the way of life, 
Celia. If I could give you the things Angela has— 

there’s no reason-” She sighed deeply, then 

/ 

brightened as she added, “Well, don’t you worry, 
Celia. You may not have to work long. Steve’ll 
be sure to come back soon, and then you can go on to 
State Normal. You’ll make a lot of friends there.” 

Celia made no response. It was so useless to argue 
with Aunt Clem. She would never go to State 
Normal! She would never be a teacher, no matter 
what happened! 

“My! It’s nearly half past six!” her aunt ex¬ 
claimed, casting an anxious glance toward the Big 









AUNT CLEM SPEAKS HER MIND 67 

Ben on the black iron mantel-shelf of the little 
sitting-room as she followed Celia into the house. 
“Run and take your swim while I slap the biscuits 
in the oven. We’ll be late for the show, and it’s 

John Gilbert in- And, Celia!’ ’in sudden alarm. 

“You sure you got your pay envelope on you? 
These women that go flying around the country pick¬ 
ing up strange girls- There’s no telling- 

You sure you got your pay envelope?” 

Celia drew it from a pocket with a wide smile for 
her aunt’s exaggerated concern for her, tossed it with 
a laugh into the floury hands, and hurried into the 
tiny passageway, up the stairs, snatched up her 
bathing suit, a towel, and a bar of soap, tore down 
again, and was off, whistling gayly, down the path at 
the back of the house, happy in the thought of the 
evening ahead of them. 

She loved the movies. They gave you details of 
foreign places that you’d never find in books. You 
made the acquaintance of people you’d never know 
otherwise, but, best of all, they gave you beauty— 
beauty that made you ache with envy of those who 
had created it, that made you desperate for knowl¬ 
edge of how it was all accomplished. 

If she hurried, they might be able to catch a 
glimpse of Sally Vandever somewhere about the St. 
Nicholas, for the Palace Moving Picture Theatre 
was in the block beyond, and even if they didn’t see 






68 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Sally, they might get another look at her smart blue 
car. It wasn’t often one even had a chance to look 
at a car like that. 

Later, as they neared the hotel and saw the car 
standing beside the curb, she took a proprietary pride 
in pointing it out. With a little inward laugh, she 
noted that her aunt’s romantic streak was getting 
the better of her, though she was fighting it nobly. 

“But you can’t judge people by their cars, Celia. 
Any one with money enough-” 

Celia’s hand on her arm tightened suddenly. 
“Look! There by that window!” she whispered in 
her aunt’s ear. “It’s Sally! Oh!” disappointedly, 
“she’s gone!” her chest heaving with a sigh as Sally 
arose from the table beside the window and moved 
out of their range of vision. “I wish you could have 
seen her face—her eyes.” 

“I guess I was too busy looking at that man she 
was with, Celia.” 

“Her father. She said she was coming to meet 
him.” 

“Maybe so, but just tell me this, Celia. What’s a 
man like that doing a-climbing our hill twice to-day, 
just to walk past our house? There’s not another 
thing on that hill but our house and that clump of 
pines.” 

“Maybe he liked the view. It is pretty, looking 
over the town.” 




AUNT CLEM SPEAKS HER MIND 69 

It wasn’t the view he was looking* at; it was the 
house, and I’m sure there’s nothing about a little run¬ 
down five-room house like that to attract any one’s 
attention, much less a moneyed-looking man like 
him.” 

Celia shrugged and thought with a smile that now 
her aunt would have something to keep her imagina¬ 
tive mind busy for some time. 

"It just goes to prove, Celia, it’s not safe to take 
up with strangers.” 

They were nearing the theatre now, but, looking 
back, Celia saw both Sally and her father descend¬ 
ing the steps of the hotel, followed by a porter carry¬ 
ing a bag. Another backward glance showed them 
climbing into the car. 

“Maybe not,” she agreed silently, “but it’s rather 
interesting when they happen to be people like Sally 
Vandever.” 

The car was disappearing down Main Street, 
much to Celia’s regret. 

“Well, they’re gone,” she said to herself resign¬ 
edly, and, though she knew her aunt was right about 
not picking up with strangers, she had a feeling that 
she would never be sorry she had met Sally Van¬ 
dever. Just to have seen her smile, the trim set of 
her slender shoulders behind the wheel, the gay 
laugh, the wisp of fair hair beneath the blue hat, 
her air of generous camaraderie— she was a new 


70 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


experience to Celia, who did not mean to forget her, 
even though she never saw her again. 

Automatically she took out Ted’s book that night 
to write to him about her meeting with Sally and 
the blue car, and then she remembered. She had 
done with childish things. Besides, Ted was only a 
boy, and how could a boy ever understand the thrill 
of her meeting the divinely alluring Sally or appre¬ 
ciate the friendly qualities of Sally’s smile ? No mat¬ 
ter how far you stretched your imagination or ex¬ 
hausted your adjectives, you knew he couldn’t pos¬ 
sibly understand. He was only a boy, even though 
he was older than she; and a strange boy, at that, 
even though he was her brother. 


CHAPTER VI 


A BREAKFAST AL FRESCO 

Mrs. Carson, a worried frown on her usually 
placid face, met Celia at the kitchen door as she 
came hurrying in to lunch a few days later. 

“Celia, I hate to ask it, but would you please run 
over to the Duvals and borrow a couple of eggs? 
Two of that dozen from Stengel’s were bad, and 
Jared’s favorite icing is egg, you know. I just 
couldn’t put any but egg icing on his birthday cake.” 

Then, as Celia came to an abrupt stop, a flash of 
distaste crossing her face, her aunt hurried on: 
“Jared hasn’t found out anything about the party, 
has he ? It sure would be a shame after his wife’s go¬ 
ing to all that trouble to surprise him, untacking her 
carpets and putting wax down. Did you hear 
whether Dolph got the extra fiddlers from 
Phoenix?” 

Celia nodded a brief response and said, plainly dis¬ 
tressed, “Do you have to have those eggs, Aunt 
Clem?” 

“Of course I do, or I wouldn’t be asking. I put 

71 


72 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


all ten of those eggs in that cake, I tell you. I got 
my icing a-bubbling now, and I can’t leave it. You 
haven’t time to run all the way to Stengel’s, and they 
don’t have any afternoon delivery in the summer, you 
know. I’m sure it’s very little for you to do for 
Jared’s party. And Mrs. Duval won’t mind in the 
least. Besides, I’d like her to know I don’t harbor 
hard feelings ’cause they haven’t sent for us.” 

With a muttered “Oh, well, all right, if you have 
to have them,” Celia started around the house. 

Her aunt’s gaze followed her unhappily and a 
bit guiltily, for it was not only for eggs that she was 
sending Celia to the Duvals. That morning, while 
sweeping the front porch and pausing, as was her 
custom, to admire the view, she made the interesting 
discovery that the Duvals had erected a red and 
yellow striped beach umbrella on their side lawn and 
under it had placed a table which was being spread 
with a lace cloth. 

With surprise and considerable interest, she had 
stood and watched as a maid went back and forth 
from the house, bringing out dainty china, silver, and 
glassware. She had no thought of being rude in thus 
staring down upon them, for the Duval house and 
what went on therein had always been a never-ending 
source of pleasure to her. Its red tile roof and the 
brick wall with its clinging ivy that enclosed the gar¬ 
den filled her with a constant sense of pride. To her, 


A BREAKFAST AL FRESCO 73 


a walled garden was romance of a sort. That the 
wall had been erected to shut out the gaze of the curi¬ 
ous as well as to enclose the possessions of the Duvals 
in no way marred her pleasure in it. So many years 
had she reveled in the beauty of their surroundings 
that she felt a proprietary interest in all that went 
on within the confines of the red wall. 

But, though she watched until her nose told her 
that her potatoes, intended for lunch, were scorch¬ 
ing, she saw no one but the maid. 

As she hurried about preparing lunch, she thought 
sadly of the time when Celia used to run back and 
forth, bringing her news of what went on there, and 
when she herself used to help prepare for the guests 
that came so often to the big house. Many times of 
late she had racked her brains in an effort to find 
some way in which to restore that old happy rela¬ 
tionship. 

It gave her some satisfaction, therefore, when she 
realized that, if the cake for Jared’s birthday party 
that night were to be finished, there was nothing to be 
done but send to the Duvals for eggs. She might 
easily have gone herself, but she wanted Celia to go, 
more in the hope that the sight of her might soften 
their feelings toward her than to know for whom the 
interesting preparations were being made. 

“They might be so pleased to see her they’ll invite 
her over,” she mused hopefully. 


74 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


But, knowing just what Celia thought of them, she 
was just a bit ashamed to have forced such an errand 
upon her, though she told herself repeatedly that it 
just wouldn’t do to encourage her niece’s ill feelings. 
Maybe she, too, would soften toward them, once she 
came under the spell of their surroundings. 

“Well, anyway,” she said to herself as she turned 
back to the stove, “I’ve got to have those eggs for 
that cake,” and added brightly, “My, won’t old Jared 
be tickled when we folks come crowding in on him, 
musicians, cakes, ice cream, and all!” 

Celia, having broken a twig from a heavily laden 
lilac bush by the front fence, tore it into savage bits 
as she went reluctantly down the slope toward the 
red gate set in the wall at the back of the Duvals’ es¬ 
tablishment. She told herself that for no one but old 
Jared would she have gone to the Duvals’, but she 
knew just how fond he w r as of Aunt Clem’s cake. 
She knew, too, just how happy and excited her aunt 
was over the birthday surprise party that had been 
planned by the pottery workers to celebrate his six¬ 
tieth birthday. It wouldn’t do to let her personal 
feelings interfere with the success of the party. 

She was also very anxious herself to have every¬ 
thing as it should be, for she knew that the pottery 
workers had gone to considerable trouble and ex¬ 
pense to make it an outstanding occasion. There 
was to be a jazz ensemble from Phoenix some miles 


A BREAKFAST AL FRESCO 75 


away, which would alternate with two Czechoslovak¬ 
ians who played the music of their old world. There 
were to be native Czech dances and folk-songs. It 
would be too novel an occasion for Celia to want to 
miss, though she had no expectation of taking part in 
the merriment. They were all older than she. She 
and her aunt would be merely onlookers, though of 
course Aunt Clem would find plenty to keep her 
nimble fingers busy. 

But she knew that the party would please old 
Jared and his wife greatly, for both were keenly in¬ 
terested in the foreign element that had come but 
a short time before into their midst. Their timid 
aloofness, their shy attempts to assimilate the ways 
of a new land and strange people, had given both 
Jared and his wife a desire to ease the difficulties of 
their ad j ustment as best they could. More than once 
Jared had brought them together under his roof, 
where the music, dances, and songs of their far-away 
land were interspersed with those of their new 
country. 

Both Celia and her aunt looked upon the party as 

an interesting experience, and both entered eagerly 

■ 

into the plans of those who owed so much to Jared 
to make his birthday celebration a success. 

But Celia did hate to borrow, and especially of the 
Duvals just then. 

She had never been in sympathy with her aunt’s 


76 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


habit of occasionally borrowing from them, though 
Mrs. Duval always welcomed her pleasantly and 
often went into the kitchen and found the things 
herself that Celia asked for. Selina, the colored 
cook, however, usually met her requests with a si¬ 
lence that Celia read correctly and resented accord¬ 
ingly. Selina, she knew, had her own opinion of 
white folks who borrowed. 

It was with increasing reluctance that she went up 
the walk, and she was relieved when she discovered 
no sign of Selina in the kitchen. She knocked several 
times and, receiving no response and hearing voices 
around the side of the house, decided that Mrs. Duval 
and Angela were at their usual morning task of 
gathering flowers for the vases that it had formerly 
been her pleasure to fill. But she must not think of 
that again. 

She hurried around the house, eager to have her 
errand accomplished, but stopped short with sur¬ 
prise as she came full upon a group of gayly clad girls 
sitting about a table that held a sparkling array of 
colored glass and delicate china, its center a low bowl 
of yellow roses, sheltered from the warm lacy sun¬ 
beams that filtered through the big beech by a huge 
red and yellow umbrella. 

There was a sudden pause in the bubbling conver¬ 
sation and a moment’s uncomfortable silence while 
she stared at them and they at her; then Angela, 


A BREAKFAST AL FRESCO 77 

lounging back in a wicker garden chair, inquired in 
a lazy voice, ‘‘Did you want something, Celia?” and, 
though the voice was very sweet, the eyes that met 
Celia’s looked considerably annoyed. 

“As though I knew she were having a party!” 
Celia said to herself in swift defense. 

“It’s just—I—why-” she stammered, sud¬ 

denly furious with herself for being so embarrassed. 
“It’s just-” 

“Yes?” Angela urged, rising indifferently from 
her chair. “You want something—isn’t that it?” 

It was not the question as much as the tone that 
hurt Celia. For a moment she did not see the figures 
of the little group. They swung in an amazing 
circle of pale blue, mauve, and pink, the roses making 
a yellow center for the revolving disk, with the col¬ 
umns of the portico a futuristic background. Then 
a streak of blue separated itself from the crazy de¬ 
sign, and a voice she had thought never to hear again 
said, “Why, it’s Celia Carson, isn’t it! Hello!” and 
Celia’s hand was grasped in the hand of Sally Van- 
dever, while Sally’s eyes smiled into her somewhat 
startled ones. 

“I thought you’d—gone,” Celia responded auto¬ 
matically, her eyes focused on Angela’s face just be¬ 
hind Sally. 

There was no doubt now of Angela’s annoyance 
with this dusty, overall-clad girl who had appeared 








78 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


in the midst of her breakfast-party and now was at¬ 
tracting the attention of her especial guest. 

“I didn’t know that you had guests, Angela,” she 
apologized. “You see, Aunt Clem needed-” 

Angela nodded impatiently. “You’ll find Selina 
in the kitchen, Celia. You didn’t expect to find her 
sunning herself on the terrace, did you?” 

“I looked in the kitchen-” apologetically. 

“Probably she’s in the pantry. 

“I looked through the window and-” 

Clearly Angela’s patience was exhausted. 

“You see,” Celia tried to explain, more because 
of what Sally would think of Angela than for her 
own feelings, “it’s Jared Stornoff’s birthday, and the 
pottery folks are going to surprise him to-night with 
a party, and Aunt Clem made a cake; but-” 

“And you want sugar for the icing!” Angela 
prompted hurriedly. 

“No, eggs,” Celia corrected her briefly. “Two.” 

“Then, do go to the refrigerator and help yourself! 
I’m sure no one cares about your taking a few eggs!” 
She linked her arm in Sally’s and drew her back to¬ 
ward the table and her other guests who had been 
talking in low tones to each other. 

Celia turned to go and could not help but hear 
Angela explaining lazily, “She lives in that little 
house on the knoll. We’ve tried to be so nice to her. 
When her uncle went off and left them without any 






A BREAKFAST AL FRESCO 79 


support, Dad offered her a place in his bank, but 
she preferred to go to work in that grimy pottery 
with a lot of foreigners. Some people just don’t 
seem to see their advantages when they’re right un¬ 
der their noses. We used to think a lot of her, but 
—of course now -” 

She thought she heard Sally’s voice in response, 
but she was too angry and hurt to care just then what 
any of them said or thought. She hurried around 
the house without pausing to glance toward the 
kitchen door and almost collided with Mrs. Duval, 
who was coming toward her with her arms full of 
roses. 

“Goodness, Celia, how you startled me!” she ex¬ 
claimed in her usual sweet but rather sharp voice. 
“What do you want, child?” as Celia murmured an 
apology. “Just a minute until I take these roses in. 
The girls are taking them out to the hospital after 
their breakfast. Such a sweet thought, isn’t it? 
The dear things in their pretty frocks with their arms 
full of flowers will look so lovely!” 

Celia had no desire to hear anything more regard¬ 
ing “the dear things.” What they did or did not do 
was of no interest to her just then. She wanted to 
get away as fast as she could. If it were not for 
disappointing her aunt, she would have fled down the 
path without caring in the least what Mrs. Duval 
thought. 



80 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Mrs. Duval apparently noted her impatience, for 
she exclaimed sharply, “My dear, can’t you wait just 
a moment? But of course you’re in a hurry to get 
back to the pottery.” 

She placed the flowers carefully upon a garden 
seat. “Now, what is it, Celia?” 

“Two eggs, please. Aunt Clem-” But she 

couldn’t go on, and Mrs. Duval did not wait for 
further explanations but went into the kitchen. 

More than once Angela had said things to her that 
hurt, but no one but she had known. Now—before 
Sally Vandever and those others— It was just too 
much to be borne with equanimity. 

Her blood was racing in her veins and her heart 
pounding. She suddenly hated Angela Duval and 
all her dainty, sweet, correct, faultlessly beautiful 
world as she had never hated anything before in her 
life. 

And then her natural good sense gradually reas¬ 
serted itself. 

“You’re crazy, Celia Carson!” she told herself 
fiercely, dashing an angry tear from her eyes as she 
hurried down the path, an egg in each hand. “You’re 
crazy to let yourself get wild over anything Angela 
Duval says. You’d better get a grip on yourself 
and simply forget her!” 

She looked down at her hands curiously, conscious 
of the disturbing force that trembled in them. 




A BREAKFAST AL FRESCO 81 

“You’re just jealous because you haven’t the things 
Angela Duval has! But you may as well get over 
it because all your temper won’t change matters one 
bit! And you’ve got no right to dislike Angela be¬ 
cause she said what she did. She was only telling 
the truth. You could have worked in the bank, but 
you chose to be independent of them, and now you’ve 
got to take the consequences.” 

“But if Sally Vandever hadn’t heard,” her other 
self protested mournfully as she hurried along, “it 
wouldn’t have been so bad!” 

“And it’s so senseless to bother about Sally Van¬ 
dever,” her good sense again protested. “Her world 
is even farther away than Angela’s. You’re crazy 
even to think about her at all!” 

“At least I won’t tell Aunt Clem,” she said de¬ 
terminedly as she endeavored to compose her fea¬ 
tures. “She’ll just remind me that a girl named 
after St. Cecelia ought to be ashamed to have such 
mean feelings. But I guess St. Cecelia never knew 
what mean feelings were. All she did was look sweet 
while cherubim dropped roses down on her piano as 
she played. I guess anybody could be sweet and 
good who never had anything more than that to 
bother her!” She sniffed a bit resentfully, dabbed 
hastily at her eyes with a somewhat grimy handker¬ 
chief, then laughed a funny little laugh and said, 
“The joke, I reckon, Celia Carson, is after all on 


82 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


you.” Then with another laugh, “It’s a good thing 
I have a sense of humor. Or ill humor, rather,” 
with a broader smile. 

Although the smile vanished in a moment, there 
was no sign of disturbance on her face as she went up 
the walk. She knew how keen Aunt Clem’s eyes 
were. You couldn’t hide much from her. 

But when she reached the kitchen, there was no 
sign of her aunt. A note on brown paper on the 
kitchen table read: 

“Jared’s just been taken real sick. They think it’s 
appendicitis. There can’t be any party. They sent 
for me. Eat your lunch and tell them over at the 
pottery. And don’t let them give Jared’s job to 
anybody.” 

Jared—sick! No party! Jared—unable to work! 
She frowned thoughtfully. He had been unusually 
glum that morning and his eyes unusually dull look¬ 
ing, but she had been too busy to say anything to him. 

“I wonder if he’s very ill,” she mused, and reread 
with distressed eyes: “Don’t let them give Jared’s 
job to anybody.” 

“As though I could hold his job for him!” an 
amused smile twisting the corners of her mouth at 
this additional proof of her aunt’s childlike faith. 

She hurried through her lunch, eager to be back at 
the pottery and learn more about old Jared’s con¬ 
dition. 




CHAPTER VII 


AT THE POTTERY 

Celia’s anger at Angela melted away as a mist 
before the sun in the face of this trouble that had 
come to old Jared. 

Appendicitis! That meant an operation, per¬ 
haps; days, maybe weeks, unable to work. What 
would they do for a thrower at the pottery? What 
would old Jared and Melby do without his pay, for 
lost time meant lost pay. What would his invalid 
brother and his family do out in Arizona if Jared 
could no longer send them half his pay as he had been 
doing for years now? 

Would they get a new thrower, one who would not 
let her use the wheel at odd moments ? 

The men were standing in groups talking in low 
tones when she reached the pottery. They talked 
sadly of Jared’s sudden illness and the fact that now 
the party would have to be called off. Though one 
suggested that it would be a shame to let all those re¬ 
freshments be wasted, his remark was received in si¬ 
lence. The older element had no heart for any fes- 


83 


84 CELIA'S CHOICE 

tivities. Jared was too well beloved f or them to think 
of any gayety just then. They wondered, too, what 
Melby would do, now that Jared could not work. 
They knew where a large part of Jared’s money 
went. It was one reason why they loved him. A man 
who would do that for his brother’s family was rare 
indeed. 

“And Aunt Clem said I was to see that Jared’s job 
was kept for him!” Celia said with a funny little 
laugh. “As though I could keep his job for him!” 
Then, hesitantly, “Do you suppose Mr. Creel— 
would let me—try—if-” 

She was suddenly the center of their gaze. They 
regarded her in silence for a moment; then one said, 
“You’re the only one that can use the wheel, ain’t 
you?” 

And another remarked, “Funny—Jared’s teach¬ 
ing a kid like that his trade.” 

She thought there was just the least bit of resent¬ 
ment in his voice, and she hurried to say, “It was 
just that I—sort of—forced myself on him. He 
didn’t like being bothered—at first. I was so small 
then, but when he saw how I loved the clay—to work 
with it-” 

A heavy silence met this, and she gazed anxiously 
from one serious face to another. 

“We don’t want no strange thrower a-comin’ in 
here till we see how bad off Jared really is. He 








85 


AT THE POTTERY 

might be all right in a week or so without an opera¬ 
tion. Besides, a good thrower ain’t likely to take on 
the job for only a few days.” 

“You talk like you’re running this pottery, 
Stance,” one man said. 

“No, I ain’t a-runnin’ it, but if the whole works’ll 
back me up, why, I guess we can save Jared’s job 
for him.” His eyes dwelt searchingly on Celia. 
“You see what I mean?” 

“You mean, then, that I—that Mr. Creel might 
let me take Jared’s place?” though she knew that was 
exactly what he did mean. 

He nodded impressively. “Yes. It won’t be so 
hard on him, losin’ a few weeks’ pay, if his job is 
waitin’ for him when he gets well.” He looked in¬ 
quiringly at those about him. “We could maybe— 
some of us—help him out while he’s sick. Each give 
a little-” 

Celia’s blood was racing in her veins. “Oh!” she 
exclaimed, “if—if I could do his work for him— 
wouldn’t his pay—go on just the same?” 

Again they regarded her in silence. “It depends 
on what the boss says. But you’d be earning it, and 
o’ course it would belong to you.” 

“But—I’d want Jared to have his part of it! I 
wouldn’t expect more than I’m getting now.” 

She saw the sudden admiration in the men’s eyes, 
though their stolid faces showed no sign of emotion. 









86 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“There’s Mr. Creel now. Let’s see what we can 
do.” 

Mr. Creel, the manager, listened in an enigmatic 
silence, and even when the man, Stance, had finished 
speaking, he waited for some moments before he 
spoke; then he motioned Celia toward his office door. 

“We’ll have to talk this over a bit. There’s the 
whistle now,” he said to the men, and they moved off 
to their various posts in the pottery. 

He was a heavily built man, slow in his movements 
and given to little conversation, but well liked by 
those under him. He gave orders in a firm, quiet 
voice. It was seldom that he had any trouble with 
the men. 

“So you want to take Jared’s place?” he said to 
Celia, when she had seated herself opposite his desk 
in the chair which he had indicated to her. 

She nodded, afraid to speak lest he see how ex¬ 
cited she was at the prospect, but when he said noth¬ 
ing and continued to regard her in a thoughtful si¬ 
lence, she said, ‘‘ Just until he’s well again. You see, 
he takes care of his brother’s family—and while he’s 
sick, he can’t earn-” 

He nodded. “Yes, I know. And you propose 
turning over what you earn to him?” 

“Except what I’ve been earning at trimming. 
You know Aunt Clem needs that since Uncle Steve 
went away and left her.” 




AT THE POTTERY 87 

He cleared his throat harshly. “Are you related 
to Jared?” 

She shook her head. “He’s just been so kind to 
me—showing me how to handle the wheel-” 

“You like to do it?” 

Her hands were clasped tightly together in her 
effort at self-control. She did not want him to know 
how very eager she was to have her hands in the clay 
from morning till night, to feel it alive beneath her 
fingers, and to know that she was helping Jared, 
earning money to repay him for his kindness and in¬ 
terest in her. 

“I—I love to work with the clay,” she said simply. 
“I think I can do it if you will let me try.” 

Again silence met her while he puffed thought¬ 
fully at a long cigar he had just lighted. 

“I wonder,” he said finally, “just how far you can 
keep your own counsel?” 

“You mean you wouldn’t want it known?” 

“Not that. It’s like this,” he said. “The pottery 
is about to change hands, but the new owner doesn’t 
want his name mixed up in the deal. It’s still to be 
the Newtonville Pottery, with me as manager. 
There’ll be changes, of course; not in the help, but 
in the output and other things. As you know, it 
isn’t easy to pick up a good thrower, especially for 
a short time, and until we see how Jared gets along, 
and until this deal is completed, we might let you 




88 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


take over Jared’s work. We’ve a good stock on 
hand, and production will of necessity be cut down 
until this change I’ve spoken of takes place.” 

She nodded her understanding. 

“We don’t want it talked about,” he continued em¬ 
phatically. “In fact, we’d rather not have the men 
even know there is a new owner. The changes that 
are to be made will be gradual. I’m only telling you 
this so that you will understand just why we’re let¬ 
ting you take Jared’s place. He is a valued em¬ 
ployee, as you know, and we want to retain him if 
his condition permits.” 

“Then—then I am to-” 

“Yes,” he said. “Get busy and let me see how well 
you can do.” 

Her eyes bright with excitement, she started to¬ 
ward the door, then turned swiftly. 

“Thank you, Mr. Creel. I’ll not tell any one what 
you have told me, and I’ll do my best.” Then she 
turned, ashamed to let him see the film of moisture 
that suddenly dimmed her bright brown eyes. And, 
hurrying through the doorway, she almost collided 
with Sally Vandever, who stood there. 

“Hello!” exclaimed Sally. “Where do I find the 
reception committee?” Then, catching sight of the 
superintendent, who was eying her from his desk, 
she said hastily, “But I mustn’t interfere with your 
duties. I’ll see the big boss first.” 




AT THE POTTERY 


89 


Celia, eager to get to work, yet surprised and 
pleased that Sally had kept her promise to look her 
up, hesitated uncertainly. 

“Mr. Creel,” she said, “is in his office. Do you 
want me to-?” 

“So that’s his name? No, I’m not afraid of him. 
He looks rather gentle.” Then, with a gesture of a 
slender hand, she indicated that Celia was to wait 
and moved toward the office door. 

In considerable surprise Celia heard her say with 
mock dignity, “I’m representing the Wednesday 
Afternoon Literary Society of Breezeport-on-the- 
Hudson, Mr. Creel. Our club is studying American 
industries this year, and, as I must give a paper on 
the manufacture and sale of pottery and porcelain, 
I thought I could obtain the necessary data through 
you. My paper will be entitled ‘An Old Art in a 
New World’. Rather intriguing title, don’t you 
think? And I thought it up all by myself!” 

Still puzzled and not a little amused, Celia heard 
Sally’s delighted laugh mingled with the deep bass 
of Mr. Creel. Certainly Sally Vandever was some¬ 
thing of a diplomat, she thought, but she stirred rest¬ 
lessly. She wanted to get to work, and yet she felt 
she must await the outcome of Sally’s visit. Though 
she was considerably thrilled that Sally had kept her 
promise, she was also considerably embarrassed to 
know just what to do with her. Then she heard. 



90 


CELIA’S CHOICE 

with relief, Sally say, “No, really, Mr. Creel, I’m 
merely Sally Vandever, and I’m just dying of curi¬ 
osity. I’ve never seen the workin’s of a pottery. 
Couldn’t I wander around a bit if I promise not to 
distract the workmen?” 

“Sally Vandever! So you’re Sally Vandever! 
Well, well!” 

“Yes. And I’ll be awfully good and won’t put 
my fingers in any of the machinery or steal 
your formulas for glaze or anything like that if 
you’ll-” 

Celia heard the superintendent say quickly, 
“We’ll be only too glad to accommodate you, Miss 
Vandever. Come this way. I’ll show you through 
myself.” And with a relieved sigh she hurried off. 

She wondered just why Sally should be shown so 
much attention, for she knew that visitors were not 
encouraged at the pottery. But she had no time 
then to ponder the matter. She must prove to Mr. 
Creel that she could turn out as beautifully modeled 
pieces as old Jared could. She might never again 
have another such opportunity, for Jared’s illness 
might be only a slight one after all. 

The machinery, the stacks of earthenware, and the 
great red brick furnaces all seemed to be dancing 
crazily in a gray haze. Her feet scarcely touched the 
gray worn boards of the old floor as she moved 
quickly through and up the stairs to the long room 



91 


AT THE POTTERY 

which held the whirler. At last she had the chance 
she’d hardly dared hope for, and, added to that, Sally 
Vandever had not forgotten her! To have two such 
delightful things happen at one and the same time! 

With a little thrill of exultation she threw the 
switch that set the machinery going. The whirring 
belt that turned the wheel was now whirring for her 
—her hands—aiding her hands to create. 

She slapped a lump of clay upon the whirler and 
plunged her fingers into it. Never before in her life 
had she been so happy. She gave her entire mind and 
energy to the living mass of clay as she shaped it 
lovingly while it rose and fell beneath her moving 
fingers. 

So absorbed was she in her work that she did not 
notice the presence of Sally and Mr. Creel as they 
entered the long room and paused beside the shelves 
laden with Jared’s work awaiting its turn in the great 
ovens below stairs. 

It was only when Mr. Creel said, “I’ll leave you 
now with Miss Carson. She’ll show you how the 
hand-made pieces are turned,” that Celia saw she was 
not alone. 

“Well, I’m here,” Sally said complacently, perch¬ 
ing herself on the long dusty table and eying Celia 
with a triumphant smile. “I told you I’d be around 
to see you if I stayed,” watching intently the revolv¬ 
ing vase which Celia’s fingers were busily perfecting. 


92 CELIA’S CHOICE 

“My, isn’t that fascinating!” she exclaimed after 
a moment. 

Celia nodded with a pleased smile. “I’ve always 
thought so.” 

“You’re rather marvelous, aren’t you?” Sally com¬ 
mented after a moment’s interested contemplation of 
Celia’s busy fingers. 

“It isn’t hard—once you learn, though it does take 
a certain skill, I believe,” trying not to let Sally guess 
how pleased she was. “ Jared Stornoff says you have 
to be born with the touch” 

“Oh! Like being an artist—or a musician. I was 
thinking I’d like to try it, but I guess there isn’t any 
use.” 

“Why not, if Mr. Creel doesn’t object?” Celia 
asked. 

Sally shrugged. “I don’t really believe I could; 
besides, what’s the use? When you’ve more money 
than you know what to do with, nothing seems worth 
bothering about—except sports, and even they get 
rather tiresome.” 

Celia nodded silently. She was glad that Sally 
was reminding her of the great difference between 
them. It was just as well to keep the matter in mind 
constantly, for it would be so easy to let herself care 
a great deal for Sally Vandever, as much as or more 
than she had ever cared for Angela. 

“You didn’t think I meant it when I said I’d look 




AT THE POTTERY 


93 


you up at the pottery, did you?” Sally asked after a 
moment’s silence. 

“I thought you’d left town until I saw you—at the 
Duvals’ a while ago,” flushing at the remembrance 
of her anger, which had vanished entirely. 

But, even though her anger was gone, the mem¬ 
ory of its occasion was still with her. It was another 
reminder that she must not let herself become too in¬ 
terested in Sally Vandever. Besides, she was fairly 
certain that it was the pottery which interested Sally, 
far more than did the girl in dusty overalls who hung 
over the whirler. 

“Seeing you there reminded me of my promise,” 
Sally remarked, watching intently the skill with 
which Celia slipped a wire beneath the finished vase, 
lifted it carefully, and set it gently on a shelf laden 
with others of a similar shape. “Angela told 

us- You didn’t mind, did you, if we talked 

about you—a little ? She told us about your refus¬ 
ing a position in her father’s bank and coming here 
instead. I’ve been a little curious. Seems to me 
any one—would rather—especially as you and she 
had been friends-” 

“I’ve always loved the pottery,” Celia said a little 
sharply. 

She just could not discuss the matter again, even 
with Sally Vandever. She wanted to forget, if pos¬ 
sible. 






94 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“I can understand why, now that I’ve seen you 
work,” Sally remarked a little admiringly. “I al¬ 
most believe I’d prefer it myself to juggling figures 
all day in a bank, in spite of its social drawbacks.” 

There was a funny little twinkle in her eyes that 
set Celia to wondering, and, though she did not mean 
to take seriously anything Sally Vandever said, she 
could not help the sudden happiness that swelled her 
heart. 

They were silent for a time; then Sally said with 
a hesitant laugh, “Do you mind if I’m perfectly 
frank with you?” 

“Why not?” Celia asked, looking at her in quick 
surprise and wondering what was coming. 

“It’s just that I rather envy you.” 

“Envy meV’ in astonishment. 

“Yes. It must be rather nice to be poor and to 
know that people like you for yourself alone and 
not for what you can do for them!” 

Celia smiled a little bitterly. It was what she had 
always thought of Angela—that Angela had liked 
her for herself alone. But she knew how wrong she 
had been. Still, there was no use in arguing the mat¬ 
ter with Sally. 

“And it must be nice to have the courage to do 
what you’d rather do, regardless of what any one 
thinks or says.” 

Still Celia did not respond, though she felt she 




“I rather envy you.”— Page 9J/. 




















AT THE POTTERY 


97 


deserved no especial credit for the choice she had 
made. She would have taken the position in Mr. 
Duval’s bank and gone on kowtowing to Angela and 
her mother, no doubt, had her eyes not been opened 
to the fact that neither of them really cared for her 
except for the slight services she had always been so 
willing to render them. 

Sally seemed wholly interested in her own train 
of thought. “You see, when you have everything— 
money, position, and all that goes with them—you 
begin to distrust everybody who is fairly decent to 
you. You’re always wondering what their motive 
is.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Celia said. 

“Well, it’s true,” Sally returned tersely. Then, 
sliding off the table reluctantly, she said, “But I 
mustn’t bother you too long, or that nice Mr. Creel 
will be taking me out by the ear. And Angela’s 
mother will throw a fit if I’m not there when they 
get back from the hospital. I was supposed to have 
a wretched headache, but I slipped out the back way. 
It was the only thing I could think of to avoid going 
to the hospital with them.” 

She gazed about her interestedly at the shelves 
laden with the unfinished pieces of gray pottery in 
all shapes and sizes, at the low table filled with mugs 
just brought from the molds, at the girl bending 
over the whirling wheel, whose tawny brown curls 


98 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


were tinged with copper by the rays of the sun that 
shown through the many-paned window. 

“It is interesting, Celia, and I’m glad I came. It 
makes me understand a little better Dad’s craze for 
ceramics, though his stuff is all very old.” 

She stopped with a little cry of dismay, and Celia 
saw her eyes widen in quick distress as she breathed 
in a panicky whisper, “This would be my luck!” 

Celia turned swiftly to see the cause of her dis¬ 
turbance. Mr. Creel was ushering into the long 
workroom the man with whom Sally had dined at 
the St. Nicholas the night of her arrival. He was 
staring straight at Sally, looking about to burst with 
apoplexy. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A CONFESSION 

J ust why Sally should be so disturbed at the sight 
of her father puzzled Celia, but it was not long be¬ 
fore she knew. 

Once the shock of recognition was over, Sally’s 
chin lifted, her eyes took on a hard little glint, and 
her lips narrowed to a firm, tight line. Though it 
was plain to Celia that she was considerably dis¬ 
mayed at the encounter, she seemed to have no in¬ 
tention of betraying the fact. 

“Hello, Dad!” she exclaimed with a forced smile. 
“I might have known I’d find you here if I’d used 
my reasoning powers.” 

Ignoring her attempted pleasantry, he strode for¬ 
ward and came to a stop directly in front of her, his 
eyes stern with surprise and displeasure. 

“Will you tell me, Sally Vandever,” he exclaimed 
in a low, tense voice, with the muscles of his jaws 
twitching with anger, “just what you mean by being 
here when I took the trouble to put you on the train 
for home last night?” 


100 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Some of the color went out of her face, and her 
eyes drooped before the stern expression in his. 

“I don’t mean anything, Dad, except that I 
wanted to stay in Newtonville, as I told you. I got 
off the train at Phoenix and came back by bus. I’m 
staying with Angela Duval.” 

“Oh, you are!” He turned to Mr. Creel, who was 
studying intently the vase which Celia had just com¬ 
pleted, and said sharply, “Would you mind leaving 
us alone a moment, Creel? I-” Celia, he ig¬ 

nored entirely, though she would have been glad to 
have effaced herself just then. 

She went on with her work, trying as best she 
could to appear unconscious of their presence so near 
her. 

“Now, will you tell me just why you’re so deter¬ 
mined to defy me?” turning again to his daughter. 

“Oh, Dad! I’m not defying you. I—I-” 

He glared. “Don’t argue with me, Sally! 
There’s nothing here to attract you in the least. You 
merely wanted to see how much you could annoy me 
by coming down here when you should be at Ingle- 
nook with your mother’s guests. You wanted to 
show me that you would have your own way, as 
you’ve had it practically all your life. But when you 
come intruding into my business affairs, you’ve 
reached the limit! I won’t stand it! I sent you 
home, and I expected you to go-” 


J 


o 


j 





A CONFESSION 


101 


“But, Dad-” There was a hurt look coming 

into the blue eyes under the mop of golden hair, 
though the lips and chin were very firm. 

“I tell you I won’t have it. And I intend to see 
that your mother realizes fully her folly in allowing 
you so much liberty!” 

“Why bring Mother into it? She’s not to blame 
—except that—that she doesn’t understand. And 
she’s so busy with other people—all the time. Be¬ 
sides, it’s rather late in the day to be blaming her, 
isn’t it? I think she’s always tried to make me do 
her way. She’s certainly made me be sweet to this 
one and sweet to that one. I’ve certainly never been 
permitted to have my choice in the matter of schools 
or friends. I’ve had to accept the invitations she 
wanted me to accept, whether I liked them or not. 
Why, I wouldn’t dare let myself even like any one 
until I had Mother’s approval, because she’d find 

some flaw-” Here her eyes wandered to Celia. 

“And sometimes I wonder—what’s the use of living. 
I don’t get a chance to be myself at all!” 

“That’ll do, now, Sally!” he interrupted quickly. 
“It’s just your excuse to get around an unpleasant 
situation. You simply made up your mind to-” 

“No, Dad,” she pleaded, “but if you insist on be¬ 
lieving it- The real trouble is, you don’t either 

of you understand me. You don’t either of you care 
—what I think about—or feel-” 









102 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Now, see here, Sally, it’s because of you- 

There are reasons I can’t have you here—especially 
with the Duvals.” 

“Then, tell me one. Give me just one reason why 
I shouldn’t stay here in Newtonville and visit Angela 
for a few days!” 

His anger arose anew. “I don’t have to give rea¬ 
sons! It’s your place to obey! When I sent you 
back to your mother, I intended that you should go!” 

“Oh, Dad, why continue to make such a scene?” 
conscious now of Celia and the flush of embarrass¬ 
ment on her face. “Other people are not interested 
in our family scraps.” 

“Then, come along,” he grunted. 

She snatched up her soft hat from the dusty table, 
pulled it on, and watched him as he moved down the 
long room toward the door. 

“Sorry, Celia, to have you get such an unfortunate 
impression of my male parent. He’s usually rather 
nice. It’s just when he’s crossed that he’s like that. 
Parents are such a trial at times,” she sighed, push¬ 
ing back some of the soft tendrils of hair that strayed 
from under her hat. “I guess I did treat him 
rather badly, coming back after he’d sent me home, 
but-’’ Her voice dropped to a confidential whis¬ 

per. “Well, I’ll see you again soon,” with a little 
laugh, “unless he puts me in a crate and returns me 
by express!” 





A CONFESSION 


103 


Celia’s brown eyes met the mocking blue ones seri¬ 
ously. “Why don’t you do what he wants, Sally?” 
she asked. “You certainly don’t care enough about 
Angela or anything in this town. If I had such a 
father-” 

“Just what would you do?” 

“I’d—do anything on earth to please him! Or 
else I’d make him understand—why I couldn’t.” 

“Well, that’s where we differ. He’s one of the 
kind who’s run things so long he thinks he’s a czar 
or something!” 

“But even czars are human!” 

“Not to Soviets!” 

She gave her an airy salute with one hand and, 
with an impish smile, hurried after her father. 

Celia was much too busy the remainder of the day 
to dwell on Sally Yandever and her troubles, and 
though, during her swim and her lonely supper, her 
aunt having gone again to assist with the stricken 
Jared, she determined fiercely that she would not, 
simply would not, think about Sally, when evening 
came and she sat alone on the little porch in her fresh 
pink gingham dress, a book in her lap, the book was 
not opened. Without realizing it, she was reviewing 
over and over each detail of Sally’s visit, each word 
she had uttered, each expressive look and intonation 
of her voice. Over and over the little drama with 
Mr. Yandever was enacted before her eyes. She 




104 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


wished desperately that there were some way in 
which she could help Sally out of her dilemma, but 
she had no way of even guessing at the motives which 
had prompted either Sally or her father to take such 
determined stands against one another. It saddened 
her to think that the girl she had admired so intensely, 
had really almost envied, should be unhappy, for un¬ 
happy she undoubtedly was or she would never have 
gone so determinedly against her father’s wishes by 
returning to Newtonville when he had sent her home. 

Finally, realizing that she was doing the very thing 
she had determined not to do, she picked up her book, 
flicked at a mosquito that buzzed about one ear, then 
opened her book. But the words held no meaning. 
Sally’s face arose between her and the printed page. 
Sally’s voice spoke over and over in her ear the things 
she had said that day. 

The book finally slid to the floor unheeded, and 
dusk gradually descended, bringing with it myriad 
fireflies that twinkled and flashed up and down the 
slope like restless searchers hunting something, they 
knew not what. 

Then suddenly she sat erect and arose with a little 
cry as a figure in misty white came swiftly up the 
slope and through the little gate. 

“Sally!” she breathed as she hurried to meet her, 
for, though the darkness blurred her features, some 
inner knowledge told her it was none other. 


A CONFESSION 


105 


“Oh, Celia! I had to see you! But I’ve only a 
moment! Is there somewhere we can talk where we 
won’t be overheard ?” 

“Over here.” 

Celia led the way to a wicker settee beneath a tall 
pine that grew by a far fence, hidden from the house 
by a huge hydrangea loaded with vague clusters of 
whiteness. 

“I had to see you, Celia!” Sally repeated, a little 
breathless from her climb. “I couldn’t go away— 
and have you think—that Dad—or Mother-” 

“You’re leaving, then,” Celia commented, her 
heart sinking, though she had felt all along that Sally 
would not stay very long. The Sally Vandevers of 
this world didn’t linger in obscure little places like 
Newtonville. 

“Yes, of course. I’ll have to go back in the morn¬ 
ing. Angela is giving a dance in my honor to-night, 
so Dad couldn’t very well insist on my going any 
sooner. 

“But I had to see you, Celia. I didn’t want you to 
think Dad was such a bear. He had a right to be 
angry with me. And I didn’t talk very nicely about 
Mother, Celia. I was just provoked, I suppose. 
I’ve been thinking since that you must imagine 
they’re unkind to me. They’re not. Dad is—well, 
Dad’s about the best man in the world. I guess he 
does too much for me. I’ve always had more money 





106 CELIA’S CHOICE 

than I know what to do with. And Mother—well, 
Mother’s lovely. Every one adores her. I wish you 

could know her. It’s just that every one- They 

never let her have time for me!” She threw out her 
hands in a little gesture of distress. “I guess it’s 
just me, Celia. I guess I’m spoiled. I guess I want 
too much. Oh, I don’t know just what is the matter 
with me, but I—do hate people! The kind of people 
who hang around Mother. They simply absorb her. 
And—and I don’t want to go back to Inglenookl” 
she added in a final burst of eloquence. 

Celia put out a sympathetic hand and touched the 
soft chiffon-clad shoulders. 

“I—I wish that I could help you, Sally.” 

“No one can help me. It’s just myself!” She 
started to rise, then turned swiftly. “Celia—haven’t 
you ever felt—as though you’d give everything in 
the world—just to have —one friend—who under¬ 
stood you? One friend you could care for without 
having to wonder why she was being nice to you!” 

“Oh, Sally!” Celia breathed. It was all she could 
say, for her own hurt was so recent that she could 
guess fairly accurately the state of Sally’s feelings. 

“But I didn’t come to talk about myself,” with a 
harsh little laugh. “I just wanted you to know that 
Dad had a right to raise a scene when he found me 
at the pottery. You see, he came here on business, 
and I guess he really didn’t want to be bothered with 









A CONFESSION 


107 


me. He wouldn’t agree to my going to the Duvals’, 
for you see I’d run off from some young people 
Mother’d invited to Inglenook, and he said it was 
my duty to go back. He put me on the train, gave 
me some money, bought me magazines, and was just 
so sweet. I got off at the first station and ’phoned 
to Angela. I told them the truth after I got here, 
and Mrs. Duval was so kind, though I know she’s 
rather distressed. I never dreamed of running into 
Dad at that pottery. You can imagine how I felt 
and how he, too, felt when he thought me at home.” 

“Don’t you suppose your mother must be dread¬ 
fully worried?” Celia asked. 

“I told Dad’s secretary to tell her I’d gone to 
be with Dad, so you see I figured I could stay on here 
without either one knowing-” 

“But-” Celia started to protest. 

“Then Mrs. Duval saw Dad with me when he let 
me out of the car at their house this afternoon, and 
then she insisted that he come over to-night for 
bridge, and he’s more furious at me than ever. He 
hates to play bridge with women unless he has 
Mother for a partner. He thinks she’s the only 
woman who can play a decent game. Oh, Celia!” 
with new distress, “can’t you think of some reason , 

some way I can make him let me stay? I—I-” 

Her voice faltered. “I—just—can’t go back to 
Inglenook— now!” 





108 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Why not?” Celia asked, considerably puzzled at 
the intensity of her distress over such a simple matter. 

“Why—why-” Sally began, “because—it’s 

because-” 

“Because what?” Celia urged, her curiosity in¬ 
creasing as Sally’s distress deepened. 

“Oh, Celia, I’ve been dying to tell some one, but 
—but—if I do tell you—you’ll think me so ridicu¬ 
lously— silly!” 

“Silly? I’d never think that,” a touch of con¬ 
scious admiration in her voice. 

“Well, it’s like this, Celia. All my life I’ve 
wanted a friend—a real friend; one I could tell my 
thoughts to without being laughed at; one who would 
like me for myself alone, who would like me as well 
as I liked her. But I never had one, Celia. We’ve 
gone about so much. We’ve never stayed in any 

place long enough to find- At school, the girls 

—I was always the richest girl. When you’re the 
richest girl, Celia, every one thinks you’re wonder¬ 
ful. It doesn’t mean a thing. Then, last summer 
when we were in Europe—we go over every year, 
for Mother loves Europe—we were at Nice, you 

know, on the Mediterranean, and we met-” 

She drew in a long breath, then finished softly, 
“Julian Strassman.” 

Then she went on slowly and hesitantly: “He was 
so nice, the very nicest person I’d ever met. Not 















A CONFESSION 


109 


much older than I. I knew he liked me. I could see 
it in his eyes, though he didn’t tell me so. It’s 
strange, isn’t it, how people’s eyes tell you things 
they don’t say with their lips? He was an Austrian. 
Oh, Celia! I wish you could have known him. He 
was the friend I’d always wanted! We talked of 
everything—our schools, the places we’d been to, 
the things and people we’d seen. We motored, 
swam, and aquaplaned together. He was wonder¬ 
ful. I don’t know when I was happier. Then he 
went away without a word—and we learned after 
he’d gone that he was a noted concert pianist, though 
hardly more than a boy.” 

Celia stirred, a little puzzled at why Sally should 
be confiding so much. What could her meeting with 
a noted pianist have to do with her wanting to stay 
in Newtonville? 

“It simply spoiled everything,” Sally went on. 

“But why?” Celia wanted to know. 

“Why? Don’t you understand? He’d only been 
having a little fun with me. He considered me as 
just another of those who worshipped at his shrine.” 

“But why should you think that?” Celia asked, 
becoming more and more interested. “If he hadn’t 
told you he was a noted pianist-” 

“He didn’t, but don’t you understand, Celia, the 
amazing conceit that these celebrities possess? He 
thought, of course, that I knew and didn’t mean to 





110 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


let him know that I did. That was why he went away 
without saying good-bye. He was piqued because 
I hadn’t said something about it. I know that now. 
For when we met him in New York not long ago, 
he proved it.” 

“But how?” 

“Why, by being too wrapped up in himself and his 
wonderful performance even to notice the little idiot 
who’d thrown herself at his head that time in Nice 
and who was babbling her appreciation of his music, 
along with a lot of others.” 

“But didn’t he say anything?” 

“Not a word. Just stood with a frozen smile on 
his face. I might have been a stick of wood for all 
the attention he gave me. And then Mother had to 
cap the climax by sending him an invitation to 
Inglenook! You can image how I felt when he ac¬ 
cepted and why I left just before he came.” 

“But I don’t see why you should!” Celia protested. 

“Well, I do!” she returned somewhat sharply. 
“Do you think I could forget those days and evenings 
at Nice? Oh, Celia—I—just can’t make you under¬ 
stand. I know I was young—only sixteen—but 
don’t you think you’re capable of feeling things as 
deeply when you’re young as when you’re older?” 
Her eyes searching Celia’s face in the darkness. 

“I’m sure you do,” Celia assented emphatically. 
No one could ever convince her to the contrary. No 




A CONFESSION 


111 


one would ever be able to guess how deeply she had 
been hurt by the Duvals. 

“You see, Mother wouldn’t allow me to dance in 
the evenings, so Julian and I used to watch and listen 
to the orchestra, and one evening we sat on a little 
balcony of the hotel. We could look in at the danc¬ 
ers in the ballroom, and we could look out upon the 
curve of the sea. Oh, Celia, I can’t possibly make 
you see it as it was—the stars, the lights below, the 
water reflecting the glowing yachts in the distance, 
the breeze, and the music! It was wonderful! I 
shall never forget it! They played the ‘Barcarolle’, 
from The Tales of Hoffmann , and he sang the words 
softly under his breath. It was so lovely-” 

She paused and turned her head away from Celia; 
then she said gently, “I was happier—that night— 
than I’ve ever been in my whole life before or since. 
I wished it would last forever. I thought then that 
Julian and I would always be friends.” 

Celia’s hands were locked tightly about one knee. 
She scarcely dared breathe for fear the spell would 
be broken. Sally’s voice was like music itself, soft 
and vibrant with the emotions which she was trying 
so vainly to master. 

“And—and—he—didn’t—even think enough of 
me to remember me—a few months.” 

“But, if he accepted your mother’s invitation, 
doesn’t that prove that he did remember you and 







112 CELIA’S CHOICE 

wanted to see you again?” Celia suggested hope¬ 
fully. 

“His accepting doesn’t mean a thing. Celebrities 
accept invitations from people they’ve never heard 
of and never expect to see again. There’s no use in 
saying anything, Celia. I couldn’t stay while he was 
there. I know now that to him I was just a little 
girl he’d been nice to when the impulse struck him, 
but whom he didn’t even bother to say good-bye to 
when he left and whom he forgot immediately. 
But, at any rate, you do understand now why I 
wanted to stay here—why I had to double-cross 
Dad.” 

Celia nodded thoughtfully, wishing gloomily for 
the wit to solve Sally’s problem. It seemed hopeless. 

“And now in the morning Dad will send me back, 
and Julian will guess the truth and be amused!” be¬ 
tween set teeth. 

“But couldn’t you tell your father, Sally? If he 
knew-” 

“Tell Dad what I’ve just told you?” in amaze¬ 
ment. 

“I know it would be hard. Men are so strange, 
but-” 

Sally shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said 
weakly. “I simply couldn’t. Men—like Dad— are 
nothing but business. He’d think me a sentimental 
fool.” Then she arose swiftly with a cry of dismay. 






A CONFESSION 113 

“What will the Duvals think of me? I’ve been here 
an age, and I only meant to stay a moment! I must 
go! Good-bye, Celia. It was sweet of you to let 
me-” Then, to Celia’s amazement, she was sud¬ 

denly encircled in two soft warm arms, and a fervent 
kiss was planted on her cheek. 

Before she could recover from the shock, Sally 

f 

was through the gate and halfway down the slope. 

For a moment Celia stood there, immobile, her 
hand against the cheek Sally had kissed; then, dash¬ 
ing away a tiny tear that trickled down one cheek, 
she turned to her aunt, who was calling from the 
porch, “Wherever on earth are you, Celia? And 
why haven’t you got a light in the house?” 

Whether the tear was for herself for losing Sally 
or for Sally for losing Julian Strassman, she did not 
know. But she did know that, even though she would 
never see Sally again, Sally had given her something 
she would never lose—the memory of that confiden¬ 
tial chat and that impulsive kiss. 




CHAPTER IX 


ANOTHER CONFESSION 

All the next day Celia’s mind was filled with 
thoughts of Sally Vandever and her confession of 
the night before. Her heart went out to her in a 
great wave of sympathy, for, though she considered 
Sally the most fortunate person she had ever known, 
she nevertheless recognized the fact that Sally’s woes 
were as real and serious to Sally as her own were to 
her. Her coming to explain why her father should 
not be blamed for the unfortunate scene at the pot¬ 
tery made Celia admire her more than before for her 
loyalty to him. 

But why, she pondered, should Sally have been 
moved to confide her disappointment over her lost 
friendship with Julian Strassman? Surely Sally 
must have been subconsciously aware of her sym¬ 
pathy and liking, or she would never have revealed 
her intimate thoughts to a girl who was practically 
a stranger and who would in all probability continue 
to be one. 

And why had Sally kissed her? Had it been 

114 


ANOTHER CONFESSION 


115 


merely a blind gesture on her part, born of impulse 
—a sort of reward for her attention and sympathy— 
or had it been inspired by sincere liking on Sally’s 
part? 

While reason told her it was probably the former, 
her heart insisted that it was the latter. 

She dwelt pleasurably on the thought until some 
little demon of her mind whispered, “It’s too bad 
you’re not in Angela Duval’s place. If you were, 
you might be Sally Vandever’s friend—her dear 
friend.” 

“But I’m not in Angela’s place,” she returned 
sadly. “I’ve got to work here in the pottery.” 

“But if you hadn’t refused the Duvals’ offer- 

Perhaps even now it isn’t too late. Perhaps Mr. 
Duval will still take you on. If you were in the 
bank, you might still have a chance. At least you’d 
be allowed to help with the parties, and maybe Sally 
will come again sometime, and if she should, you 
could hear her voice, you could watch her come and 
go, and you might have a chance to make her like 
you far more than she does Angela. You ought at 
least to give yourself a chance. Here in this grimy 
pottery you’ll never have a ghost of a chance.” 

But, though she argued the matter pro and con, 
she got nowhere. She had made her choice. She 
had chosen to work in the pottery, and now, with old 
Jared ill, she could not leave if she wanted to. She 




116 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


had committed herself to the task of holding his job 
for him, and hold it she meant to do. 

Though she was no longer bitter at the Duvals, 
she was still too hurt to be anything but glad that she 
need accept no more favors from them. She told 
herself fiercely that she would not even think of them 
at all if it were not for Sally’s being there. As for 
thinking of Sally as a real friend, that was ridiculous. 
No doubt Sally was already on her way home. 

But when she reached Aunt Clem’s little house 
that evening, she knew that Sally had not gone. 
She saw her blue car come to a stop at the Duvals’ 
gate and Sally, Angela, and two other girls climb 
out. Celia’s heart skipped a beat. Perhaps she’d 
have another chance to be with Sally. The thought 
gave new impetus to everything, her work at the 
pottery as well as her work at home, for Aunt Clem 
was getting old and slow in spite of her brisk talk, 
and Celia helped all she could at the household tasks. 

The days gradually passed, one by one, more 
slowly now as she came to realize that, though Sally 
was staying on at the Duvals’, she had apparently 
forgotten her. But she constantly made excuses for 
her. There was really no reason why Sally should 
come near her again, she argued; no reason at all 
why a girl whose parents were as wealthy as Sally’s, 
who summered each year in Europe, and who chose 
noted pianists for their especial friends, should go 


ANOTHER CONFESSION 117 

out of her way to seek a girl who worked in a 
pottery. 

But, though she continued to make excuses for her, 
as the days passed and she saw her only at a distance, 
her heart was nevertheless considerably sore. She 
had been reasonably sure that the something which 
had attracted her and Sally to one another was a 
something that took no cognizance of wealth or posi¬ 
tion. But now her doubts were gaining the upper 
hand. 

Night after night she would sit on the little porch 
long after her aunt had gone to bed and listen to the 
sounds that drifted up from the Duvals’ garden— 
girlish laughter, the buzz of animated conversation, 
the tinkle of ice in tall glasses, the plink, plink of 
ukuleles with their accompaniment of popular songs. 
Again she would watch with straining eyes the ar¬ 
rival and departure of numerous cars filled with gay 
young people off for a dance at the country club in 
the next county or a moonlight picnic at the lake. 

She listened for the sound of Sally’s voice raised 
in song or laughter and watched with eager eyes to 
see if she could distinguish Sally among the vague 
forms that drifted in the moonlight about the por¬ 
tico and walled garden of the Duvals. She tried to 
tell herself that she did not care because she did not 
belong, could never belong, to that laughing, care¬ 
lessly happy crowd of young people, but she did. 



118 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


More than once she swallowed an annoying lump 
that arose insistently in her throat, and battled an¬ 
grily with the tears that insisted on filling her eyes 
and overflowing down her cheeks. 

Her one consolation was that no one but herself 
knew—not even her aunt. She did her best to remain 
her formerly happy self, and if at times she was un¬ 
consciously serious, her aunt laid it to her concern 
for old Jared, about whom she was always asking, 
and the new responsibility which his position had 
given her. Several times she went with Aunt Clem 
to the plain frame house beyond the pottery and did 
her best to make him understand that he need not 
worry. His job would be waiting for him when he 
was well. And, although he said little, she had the 
satisfaction of seeing a relieved, peaceful look in his 
eyes that made her immeasurably glad that she had 
had the courage to make the choice she had. 

Each time she went, she came away a little 
stronger, with renewed courage to face the struggle 
that was still going on within her, for she knew she 
wanted desperately to see Sally Vandever again, to 
hear her voice, to see her blue eyes laughing between 
the heavy fringe of dark lashes, to know that Sally 
still thought of her. 

Then one day she came back from lunch to find 
Sally perched upon her long worktable, holding in 
her hand one of the little figures Celia had hidden be- 


ANOTHER CONFESSION 119 

hind some defective mugs on the shelf under her 
table. 

“IVe been snooping around. You didn’t mind, 
did you? Did you make this, Celia?” holding the 
little figure aloft. 

Celia nodded, not a little abashed. “Just—in my 
spare time.” 

“It looks like one of those little Chinese gods Dad 
brought back from the Orient the last time he was 
over.” 

Celia’s dark eyes suddenly glowed. “Does it 
really?” she asked, surveying with new interest the 
little figure held up by the girl in cool yellow who 
was settled, so obviously at home, on her worktable. 
“It was what I had in mind—only—I’ve never really 
seen one.” Then she added quickly, “Does Mr. 
Creel know you’re here?” 

She had a swift vision of Sally slipping uncere¬ 
moniously, and with a certain delight in her own cun¬ 
ning, into the pottery while the men were away at 
lunch, in somewhat the same manner as she herself 
used to do. 

Sally smiled complacently. “Don’t bother about 
me,” she said. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t a per¬ 
fect right.” Then her blue eyes lighted with anima¬ 
tion. “Can you keep a secret, Celia?” 

“I think so,” Celia assured her, wondering at the 
expression of keen anticipation on Sally’s face. 




120 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Well, you’ll be surprised! Dad's bought this 
pottery!” 

“Bought this pottery V' in swift amazement. 

“Yes. But he doesn’t want it known. You’re to 
tell no one. Not even the Duvals know, and he 
doesn’t want them to.” 

“Then ought you to tell me?” Celia asked, a little 
aghast at what Sally had done. 

“He won’t know, because I know you’ll never tell. 
I just thought it would please you to know. Besides, 
if it hadn’t been for your advice about confiding my 
difficulties to him, I’d never have been allowed to 
stay on at Angela’s.” 

“Then he did- You did tell him?” Celia 

asked, pleased that Sally had seen fit to take her ad¬ 
vice. 

“Yes. We had a mutual confessional orgy. I 
told him why I didn’t want to go home, and he told 
me why he didn’t want me here. He was afraid I’d 
find out that he was here to buy this pottery. And 
he was afraid that the Duvals, if they learned he 
wanted to buy the pottery, would realize that he was 
the boy who had lived on the poor little farm where 
the clay for this pottery is dug.” 

Celia was staring wide-eyed at the other girl, 
whose blue eyes were dreamily fixed on the view be¬ 
yond the opened window. 

“I never guessed that Dad had the brains and en- 



ANOTHER CONFESSION 


121 


ergy to build a fortune from nothing. Well, not ex¬ 
actly—just a bit of poor farming land.” 

“You mean your father owned the land on which 
the clay pits are located? That he-?” 

“Yes. It belonged to an uncle who had reared him 
and who left it to him when he died because he had no 
children of his own. And, Celia, the little house they 
lived in is the house on the knoll where you and your 
aunt live now! All this land about here was their 
farm.” 

She seemed to find Celia’s amazement very satis¬ 
fying, for she leaned closer and laid a hand on Celia’s 
sun-browned arm. “But remember, Celia, you’re to 
tell no one, not even your aunt!” 

Celia nodded understanding^, happy in the 
thought of sharing such a secret with Sally Van- 
dever. 

“You see, Celia, Dad’s just a little ashamed of his 
humble beginning because of Mother. He’s never 
told her how hard he had to struggle at first, and 
now he’s sort of lost his nerve. Mother’s people had 
always been so very wealthy, I suppose he hates to 
have them know of his poverty. But I think he 
ought to be proud that he had the determination and 
the brains to get where he is to-day, and I told him so. 
It rather pleased him, Celia.” Again her eyes be¬ 
came dreamy. “I s’pose Dad and I will understand 
one another better now.” 



122 


CELIA’S CHOICE 

Celia absently kneaded a lump of moist clay. So 
Mr. Vandever had lived in Aunt Clem’s little house 
when he was a boy! Perhaps that was why he had 
walked by it several times that day Sally had come to 
Newtonville. No doubt he had been reviving his 
boyhood memories of the old place. How thrilled 
Aunt Clem would be to know! 

“I almost wish the Duvals could know, Celia, but, 
if he doesn’t want them to, we’ve got to keep his 
secret. He says he doesn’t think they would ever 
suspect that he is the boy who lived on that little 
farm, because every one called him by his uncle’s 
name instead of his own, but he can’t be sure, and 
that’s why he didn’t want me here. They might make 
it their business to find out all there is to be known 
about him. Not that he cares, for himself, you un¬ 
derstand, Celia. It is only because of Mother. He 
hates to have her know the truth after being silent 
about it for so many years. He was really wealthy, 
you know, when he met and married her. But when 
I told him about Julian Strassman and he realized 
how impossible it was for me to go back to Inglenook 
with Julian there, and he did realize it, Celia. He 
said we’d just have to trust to luck about Mother’s 
learning of his past. Besides, he says poverty is no 
real disgrace unless you just give up to it. As long 

as you keep trying- He did. He made it his 

business to find out what was the matter with that 



ANOTHER CONFESSION 


123 


land, why you could raise hardly anything on it. It 
was mostly clay—the kind of clay used for pottery. 
He sold it, and that money gave him his start in life. 
And now, Celia, that he’s getting old, he’s turning 
sentimental. He wants that land back, or the part 
where the clay pits are. He wants this pottery. He’s 
always been interested in pottery and porcelains. 
He’s got things from all over the world—old stuff— 
some of it priceless. He’s crazy about figurines es¬ 
pecially. 

She held up the little figure Celia had fashioned 
and eyed it speculatively. “I wish you could see 
them. And books—he’s got everything, I believe, 
that’s ever been written on the subject.” 

Celia’s eyes were growing wider and wider. 

“Has he really?” she exclaimed. “Books—about 
pottery?” 

“Yes. Why not?” Sally asked, a bit puzzled at her 
intensity. 

“I—I thought there must be—books about pot¬ 
tery. I tried at the library, but they didn’t have 
anything.” 

“Well, he has lots of them, volumes and volumes, 
some of them rather interesting—if you care for that 
sort of thing.” 

“Oh, but I do!” Celia exclaimed breathlessly. 
“There’s so much I’ve wanted to know—about how 
some of the lovely vases and things at the Duvals 









124 CELIA’S CHOICE 

were made—the china and ornaments. Who made 
them, and how-” 

Sally smiled a superior little smile. “Nothing ro¬ 
mantic about any of the stuff the Duvals have, Celia. 
Just the best of modern ware. But those things of 
Dad’s—some of them are centuries old. If you 
could hear him tell about them! There’s nothing he 
doesn’t seem to know.” 

“Maybe you could tell me,” Celia suggested 
quickly, but Sally shook her head positively. 

“I couldn’t possibly. You’d have to see them. I 
couldn’t begin to describe the various colors, the 
shapes, the designs, the lustres, the periods in which 
they were made, the countries to which they belong. 
It just wouldn’t mean anything to you, Celia, un¬ 
less you could see them.” 

“But I’d like to know- Couldn’t you tell me 

just a few things?” Celia pleaded. 

“Well, there are vases, platters, great jars, tea 
sets from China as far back as the reign of K’ang 
Hsi. It was in his time, you know, that china was 
first brought to Europe by Portuguese and Dutch 
traders. The Chinese were the very first people to 
make those lovely porcelains. The European de¬ 
signs, decorations as well as the colors—those of 
Dresden, Sevres, Derby, Spode, and all the others— 
were inspired by the exquisite work of the Chinese.” 

“Oh, please don’t stop!” Celia begged as Sally 






ANOTHER CONFESSION 125 

paused for breath. “I knew there must be a lot to 
know!” 

Sally shook her head. “I really know so little 
about it,” she insisted, and again studied the little 
figure Celia had made. “I do wish I could tell you 
more, especially about the figurines. There’s a little 
Chinese Goddess of Mercy Had has. It’s exquisite, 
especially the hands. I wish you could see it. And 
you’d love the little Chinese Fo-dog. He looks so 
ferocious, but he is supposed to be very gentle. 
There’s a Taoist queen and a Japanese Goddess of 
Love and Beauty-” 

She broke off sharply and glanced hastily at her 
wrist watch. “I’ve simply got to go, Celia. I prom¬ 
ised Angela I wouldn’t be long. They didn’t much 
like my coming. They seem to have something 
planned for every minute. But I had to see you. 
I wanted you to know that Dad’s buying the pot¬ 
tery. But remember, you’re to say nothing. I’m 
hoping, though, that he’ll tell Mother. It’s not fair 
to him to have to be secretive about the place where he 
was born and reared, and I told him so. Especially 
when he loves it so.” 

Celia nodded. “I sha’n’t breathe what you’ve told 
me to a soul!” she promised, and added with a smile, 
“You don’t know how glad I am, Sally. It’ll be so 
much nicer, knowing I’m working for your father.” 
Her face was alight with real pleasure. 



126 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Well, I may see you again, though I’m not sure. 
I expect to go home in a couple of days.” 

She was on her way to the door; then she turned 
and came back part of the way. 

“If you’re ever up our way, Celia, near Inglenook, 
you might stop in. Dad would be delighted to show 
you his collection and tell you all about it. If he’s 
not there, I could tell you a little. At any rate, you 
could see them!” 


CHAPTER X 


AN AFFAIR AT THE LAKE 

How Celia managed to get through the after¬ 
noon’s work she never knew, for when her mind was 
not far away, groping through the fog of her memo¬ 
ries of early school days for some substantial facts 
of the land that had been the first to create those 
lovely things Sally had told her of, she was thinking 
of Sally and the invitation to stop at Inglenook and 
view Mr. Vandever’s collection, should she happen 
to be in the neighborhood at any time. 

Back and forth her thoughts zigzagged from far- 
off China to Inglenook. She could see in imagina¬ 
tion a long train of little yellow men, staggering un¬ 
der the weight of the huge boxes adorned with queer 
Chinese characters that they carried on board the 
ships of the “foreign devils” waiting in the harbor. 
She wondered what they would have thought, had 
they known where their lovely porcelains and figu¬ 
rines finally would come to rest and of how much 
pleasure they would give to those who gloried in the 
perfection of their glaze, colors, and designs. 

127 


128 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Would she, she wondered, ever have the chance to 
see those Sally had spoken of—to learn about their 
creation? And, if she had the chance, would she 
find the courage to take Sally at her word? Though 
she thought over the matter happily and specu¬ 
latively she came to no decision. It was enough just 
then to know that Sally had said she might see them. 

Never had an afternoon flown so swiftly. The 
closing whistle startled her, for it seemed to her that 
she had hardly more than begun her afternoon’s 
work, though she knew that the drying-shelf held 
quite a few more pieces than it had when she came 
in and found Sally perched on her worktable. 

Her aunt was not at the house when Celia reached 
home, but she found a note propped up before the 
sugar bowl on the table: 

“Melby’s all tuckered out, so I’m going to sit with 
Jared while she gets some sleep. I may be a little late 
with supper, but I know you won’t mind.” 

Celia smiled. Aunt Clem was always so fearful 
of not doing enough for her! As though she couldn’t 
prepare supper herself, if necessary! 

Securing her bathing things, she was off down the 
path toward the lake. She would hurry, and maybe 
she could surprise Aunt Clem by having everything 
ready when she returned. She rather liked messing 
around in the kitchen alone. She would get out that 
new pink-bordered cloth and the best dishes and the 



AN AFFAIR AT THE LAKE 129 

few old pieces of silver, for she felt in a festive mood. 
It wasn’t every day in the week that one was asked 
to view precious displays of porcelains and figurines 
from the Orient. She knew, too, that Aunt Clem 
would join in her festive mood, for anything in the 
nature of a celebration pleased Mrs. Carson. Celia 
found herself smiling in anticipation of Aunt Clem’s 
surprise and pleasure when she learned of Sally’s 
invitation. 

When she reached the lake, her plans for supper 
were forgotten entirely, for she found Sally disport¬ 
ing herself from the diving-board which Aunt Clem’s 
Steve had put there for her some time before. 

“You don’t mind my intruding on your property, 
do you?” Sally asked, after a gay salute with one 
dripping arm. “A youngster over yonder said this 
was your private diving-board.” 

She climbed out of the water and up the ladder to 
the top of the platform to which the board was 
fastened. 

“I’m glad to have you, really!” Celia returned, too 
pleased to think of trying to hide the fact. “I’ve 
been wishing I could see you swim.” 

“Swimming is my one accomplishment,” Sally 
laughed with a certain pride in her voice. 

She found almost an equal in Celia and did not 
hesitate to show her satisfaction. They spent a gay, 
happy hour together, challenging one another to try 


130 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


this and that difficult feat, and, for the first time 
since she had known Sally, Celia forgot the difference 
that separated them. 

Then, as they sat for a moment to rest, dangling 
their legs high above the water, Sally said, “IVe been 
wondering, Celia, if you couldn’t go back home with 
me for a little visit when I go?” 

Celia turned swiftly in surprise. “Home with 
you—for a visit?” she jerked out unsteadily. 

“Yes,” Sally returned. “Dad’s closing the plant 
Saturday, for a week, probably, while some changes 
are made. It will give you a chance to see his col¬ 
lection and look over his books, since you’re so keen 
on the subject of ceramics.” 

Celia shook her head, trying her best to hide her 
real emotions, for she was torn between dismay at 
the thought of the pottery being closed, even for a 
week, and delight at the thought that Sally should 
specifically invite her to Inglenook. 

“Angela’s coming up, too. Mother said I could 
bring back whomever I chose. I think Dad must 
have suggested to her that it might be wise to let me 
have a little say about whom I want for friends. 
She’s always chosen them for me, you know. Of 
course I’ve rather imposed on the Duvals, staying 
so long. But I wasn’t going to take any chance of 
returning until I was sure, Julian Strassman was 
gone.” 


AN AFFAIR AT THE LAKE 131 

A bitter note had crept into her voice, but it was 
gone entirely when she said, “I’ve got it all arranged. 
You and I will go together in the car on Monday. 
This is Friday, isn’t it? Angela has to have some 
frocks fitted, so she’ll come up later. And Dad says 
the workers’ pay is to go on just the same, so there’s 
nothing to keep you from enjoying yourself.” 

Celia breathed a little sigh of relief, for not only 
Aunt Clem was depending on her pay, but old Jared, 
too. Then the brightness vanished. 

“I’m afraid it would hardly do for me to be there 
—while Angela-” 

Sally gave her a sharp look. “I don’t see why 
not!” she exclaimed. 

“Maybe—some—other—time,” Celia suggested 
weakly, suddenly sick with disappointment at the 
thought that Angela was to keep her from seeing that 
wonderful collection she had been thinking so much 
about. 

“No, I want you now, for I don’t know what Moth¬ 
er’s plans are for the rest of the summer, and since 
she’s given me permission to bring whom I wish, 
you’ll have to come now. I-” she paused hesi¬ 

tantly, then went on without looking at the girl be¬ 
side her. “I—guess perhaps you would rather not 
be there with Angela, but—there’s just no other way. 
I want you, Celia. You’ll come, won’t you?” 

“I’d—love—to—but-” 








132 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Sally’s fair slender hand dropped beside Celia’s 
tanned one and touched the brown fingers question- 
ingly. “I’ve a special reason-” 

She did not finish her sentence, for just then ap¬ 
peared around a bend in the lake a fleet of canoes 
filled with boys and girls, who began calling shrilly to 
Sally, scolding her for slipping away from them. 

The bright colors of bathing-suits and filmy sum¬ 
mer dresses, mingled with the white of masculine 
flannels, made a pretty picture against the blue of 
the lake and sky and the deep green of the shore. 

Celia was at a loss to know just what to do. She 
had no desire to be surrounded by Angela’s friends, 
and yet she did not want it to appear that she was 
running away because of them. 

But there was no other way out. “I think,” she 
said as nonchalantly as she could, “that I’ll swim over 
to the big rock once more,” nodding to where it lifted 
itself out of the water. “Then I’m off for home,” 
and, without a backward glance, she dived. 

She heard Sally’s vehement protest, but she did not 
pause to respond. She wanted to give Angela and 
her friends an opportunity to get Sally and depart 
without embarrassment to any of them, if possible. 

But, contrary to her expectations, they did not 
move off. She heard Sally’s voice intermingle with 
Angela’s, and the pleased shouts and laughter of the 
others, and, glancing back, she saw that those in 



AN AFFAIR AT THE LAKE 133 


bathing-suits had taken possession of her diving- 
board. She was wondering how long they would 
stay and how she could manage to get back to shore 
and recover her clothing from the little shack she 
used for a bath-house. It looked as though they 
meant to stay for some time, and she did want to 
get back and prepare supper before Aunt Clem 
came. 

She swam about the big rock three times, then 
perched herself on a ledge to rest. Then she saw a 
canoe headed toward her and recognized Angela in 
the frothy pink figure that wielded the paddle. 

Indifferently, she watched the canoe draw near. 
Her mind was too full of speculations as to whether 
or not she should accept Sally’s invitation to Ingle- 
nook to be much concerned about Angela, until she 
saw that Angela was headed directly toward the big 
rock. 

Now would be a good time to go back, she thought, 
for she had no wish to attract Angela’s attention to 
herself. The memory of the day she had appeared 
at Angela’s little breakfast party in her dusty blue 
overalls was still fresh in her mind. She felt there 
was nothing further to be said between them. 

She was just about to plunge into the water when 
Angela exclaimed, “I’d like to talk to you, Celia!” 

Celia, poised to dive, relaxed and let her hands 
drop to her sides. 


134 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Certainly, if you wish, Angela,” she responded. 

The canoe was closer now, and Celia saw with mis¬ 
giving the tense, petulant countenance and the snap¬ 
ping brown eyes. 

“I just want to tell you—I—I—don’t think you 
ought to be always enticing Sally Vandever-” 

Celia stared in amazement. “Enticing Sally?” she 
said at length, as Angela regarded her poutingly. 

“Yes! Sally Yandever! It’s—it’s just spoiling 
everything! Her whole visit!” 

“But, Angela-!” Celia protested, too aston¬ 

ished to speak coherently. “I—haven’t—enticed— 
her! I wouldn’t think of-” 

“But you have!” Angela insisted. “Even Moth¬ 
er’s noticed it. There was the day she came. She 
told us about your riding home in her car. Then you 
persuaded her to come over to that dirty old pottery 
instead of going to the hospital with us, and she was 
there ever so long. Then the night Mother gave a 
big dance for her you had her up at your house, and 
we didn’t know where she was for ever so long. 
Mother was frantic. And then again to-day she ran 

off to that old pottery to be with you, and now-” 

her lips quivering—“she ran off again to meet 
you here at the lake. It’s—it’s just humiliating! 

“But, Angela-” Celia protested somewhat 

weakly. “I didn’t—ask her. She came of her own 
accord each time.” 














AN AFFAIR AT THE LAKE 135 


“Of course you’d say that, and I really don’t blame 
you, but I just want to tell you, Celia, what a mistake 
you are making. She may think you’re interesting 
now, because she’s never known a girl who worked 
in a pottery, but you ought to know better. You 
thought you were being so independent, refusing to 
work for Father, but if you had, you’d have been 
much better off than you are now. You made your 
choice, and now you’ve got to stick to it. You just 
can’t expect people to want you about when they 
know you work in such a dirty old place with a lot of 
foreigners. It’s ridiculous that you should think you 
could hobnob with people like Sally Vandever. 
Even if she is a little nice to you, it’s just impulse on 
her part. Why, at school there wasn’t a girl who 
didn’t worship her, and do you think she cared any¬ 
thing about any of them? She did not! And when 
she leaves here, she’ll forget you that quick!” She 
snapped her fingers impressively at Celia. 

But the impressive gesture was succeeded by a 
shrill, wild scream, for, in her impassioned denuncia¬ 
tion of Celia’s conduct, she had forgotten the fact 
that a canoe is a perilous place in which to lose one’s 
temper. 

It would have been funny to Celia, and indeed her 
first impulse was to laugh, for the sight of a fault¬ 
lessly attired person suddenly precipitated into 
water is usually mirth-provoking. She felt, too, a 


i 


136 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


moment’s swift dismay over the ruin of that beautiful 
pink organdy frock before she remembered Angela’s 
fear of the water. She knew that Angela could not 
swim and that she hid her fear and dislike of the water 
only when in the presence of those who loved it. 
She knew that Angela would very much dislike to 
have any one suspect just how much she did dread 
the water, and that paddling a canoe was the extent 
of her nautical knowledge. 

She was thankful for Angela’s wild scream, for 
she knew that she would struggle wildly when she 
came up, and she wasn’t sure that she could handle 
her alone. 

As she plunged in after her, she saw with relief 
that the attention of the crowd was directed their 
way. 

The lake was deep here. It would be several mo¬ 
ments before Angela came to the surface. What 
had become of her? 

And then she saw the wildly struggling mass of 
sodden pink, a white face, and the flash of the paddle, 
to which Angela still clung. She shot toward it. 



A WHITE FACEj AND THE FLASH OF THE PADDLE. Page 136 


























CHAPTER XI 


AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION 

Celia felt that she had been swimming for miles. 
She heard vaguely the frightened call of many voices, 
and saw as in a dream the arms extended to lift her 
burden into one of the canoes. She knew that some¬ 
how she climbed into one. She heard as from far off 
the murmur of sympathetic assurances. She re¬ 
membered putting her hand to her head and the 
strange feel of that sticky stream that trickled down 
her forehead. Then she remembered nothing more. 

When she opened her eyes, it was upon unfamiliar 
surroundings. She was in a strange room, a strange 
bed. She blinked dazedly, then put her hand to her 
head. It hurt. There was a bandage on it. She 
tried to raise herself on an elbow to look about her, 
but her head swam dizzily and she sank back on the 
pillow with a sigh of relief. 

She wondered where she was and what had hap¬ 
pened, but her brain refused to consider the prob¬ 
lem. She was dreadfully tired. She could feel her¬ 
self drifting off into delicious forgetfulness, when 

139 


140 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


she saw something moving at one of the windows. 
A figure came nearer and stopped beside her bed. 

“Hello, Celia,” the voice said gently. 

She tried to remember to whom that voice be¬ 
longed. She had heard it somewhere a long time ago. 

“Rather knocked out, aren’t you?” the voice in¬ 
quired again. 

She dragged her eyelids open by sheer will power 
and saw Sally Vandever looking down upon her. 

“Now, don’t bother about anything,” Sally said. 
“You’ll be all right in a day or so, the doctor said. 
Rather nasty blow Angela gave you with that pad¬ 
dle. Nice reward for saving her—though of course 
she didn’t mean to. She put up one awful fight.” 

As Celia stirred uneasily, Sally added, “She’s all 
right, or will be in a little bit. Just scared, mostly. 
Now, don’t try to move-” 

But Celia had managed to struggle up on one el¬ 
bow, for the awful conviction that she was in one of 
the Duvals’ guest-rooms had forced itself upon her 
bewildered brain. 

Sally pushed her gently back. “You’re not to 
move, Celia. You’re here in my room at the Duvals’. 
That’s my bed, there,” pointing to the twin of the 
one Celia occupied. “I made them bring you here 
so I could look out for you. Your aunt’s busy at 
the Stornoffs’. The old fellow is worse, it seems.” 

“But—but—I can’t stay,” Celia protested, strug- 




AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION 141 


gling against the overpowering inertia that en¬ 
veloped her. “I’ve got to go.” 

“No, you haven’t. You’ve got to lie still, the doc¬ 
tor said. That was a hard blow. It may prove seri¬ 
ous yet, though he thought not. Don’t you realize 
that you saved Angela’s life ? Can’t you realize how 
grateful the Duvals feel to you? Here, drink this, 
and then go to sleep. Now, don’t worry about any¬ 
thing. I’m going over to the Stornoffs’ and let your 
aunt know you’re coming out of it O.K., so she won’t 
be worrying about you.” 

Celia gave in because there was nothing else to do. 
Sally’s figure in its white frock had suddenly turned 
black. All the world seemed swirling into a deep 
dark pit. She heard a faint cry of distress from 
Sally, and oblivion again engulfed her. 

She must have fallen asleep after that, for when 
she opened her eyes again, it was morning and Aunt 
Clem was beside her. 

Her aunt looked unusually old and tired, but she 
brightened visibly as she met Celia’s gaze. 

“My, Celia!” she exclaimed, “you did give me a 
shock. Who would of thought the Lord would ever 
have let you save Angela like you did? Things 
surely are a-coming your way these days—getting 
to keep Jared’s job for him and now rescuing 
Angela. It’s almost like a moving-picture story, 
Celia. I just knew things would come right be- 



142 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


tween you and the Duvals if I kept on praying. 
But, dear—your head! Here I am a-rambling on 
about things!” 

She stood over her, gentle withered hands stroking 
the soft brown hair that tumbled about the wide 
bandage. “I do hope, dear, it don’t hurt very 
much.” 

“Not much, Aunt Clem.” Celia made an effort to 
rise, but her aunt pushed her gently back against the 
pillows. 

“Now, don’t you go exerting yourself, Celia. 
There’s no reason why you shouldn’t enjoy your¬ 
self considerably, convalescing here at the Duvals’. 
They’re mighty grateful, I can tell you. And you 
don’t need to worry about your work. It’s closing 
down to-morrow, they say, for about a week, though 
why, nobody seems to know.” 

The faded blue eyes lighted with sudden pleasure. 
“And I just want to say, Celia, that I guess I was 
wrong, cautioning you against that Sally Vandever 
like I did. But how could I guess she wasn’t just 
like ordinary strangers ? My! When she came over 
to Jared’s to tell me about the accident at the lake, 
she came right in and made herself to home just like 
kinfolks. She even put her arm right around my 
shoulders! She sure did seem to think you’d been 
brave, rescuing Angela-” 

Celia flung out a hand with a deprecating gesture. 



AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION 143 


“I don’t deserve all the credit, Aunt Clem. I 
couldn’t have got her to shore alone. If they hadn’t 
been there with the boat-” 

“Now, don’t go belittling what you did, Celia. It 
was brave.” 

The blue eyes were bright with tears, but she 
smiled through them as she looked about her. 
“You’re mighty lucky, Celia. It’s not everybody 
that gets a chance to convalesce in such surround¬ 
ings.” She lowered her voice impressively. “Do 
you s’pose, Celia, that the tops on all those things 
on the dressing-table are pure gold or just gilded?” 

The corners of Celia’s mouth twitched with amuse¬ 
ment. “You might ask Mrs. Duval, Aunt Clem, or 
Sally. I suppose they belong to her.” 

“Well, they sure look pretty against the blue silk 
of that dressing-table. And look at those curtains, 
Celia. Gold net underneath the blue hangings. It 
sure is tasty.” 

Her eyes were sweeping over the big cool room. 
“It’s been so long since I’ve been here. They’ve 
done all these rooms over. You do have to be care¬ 
ful, though, on such slick floors. It must feel 
awful nice, Celia, stretched out in that crepe de 
Chine and lace nightgown, a-lying between those 
yellow silk sheets. If I was your age, I’d take more 
than one knock in the head just to get the experi¬ 


ence. 



144 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Celia made no response, only lay still, staring with 
half-closed eyes at the vase of yellow roses on a table 
at the foot of the bed. Her fingers longed to touch 
them. Perhaps she could model them in clay if she 
could just get the feel of them. But they were Duval 
roses. She was through with the Duvals. 

“Well, I’ll be going, Celia. I guess I’ve tired you 
out with all my talk. Mrs. Duval said I oughtn’t to 
stay more than a few minutes. And she said, too, 
you’re to take your time about getting well. Poor 
thing, she just wouldn’t listen to me when I wanted 
to have you brought home. But I guess it’s just as 
well, with Jared worse and poor Melby all tuckered 
out. It leaves me free to stay with them. They’re 
hoping they won’t have to operate, but it sure looks 
serious,” as Celia murmured a query as to his condi¬ 
tion. 

Then she arose decisively. “Well, I’ve got to go, 
Celia. Now, just take your time getting well. I’ll 
be over at the Stornoffs’ if you want me at any time.” 

The door closed gently on her aunt, and when 
Celia felt sure that she was out of the house, she 
flung back the coverlet and put her feet to the floor. 
She meant to get home at once, even though her aunt 
would be at the Stornoffs’. Once in her own bed in 
her room under the eaves, she’d be all right. She 
could not stay here. 

But her feet refused to hold her. Her head, too. 


AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION 145 


was spinning. With a moan of disgust at her weak¬ 
ness, she lay back again, feeling gingerly of the band¬ 
age about her head. 

“I’ve got to get out of here!” she said over and 
over, but without conviction. 

Her unhappy thoughts were interrupted by the 
entrance of Mrs. Duval, preceded by a maid bearing 
a breakfast tray. 

When the tray was placed to her satisfaction on 
the bedside table, Mrs. Duval dismissed the maid. 

“My dear child, I’ve been wanting to thank 

you-” The trembling voice caught pathetically 

and broke on a high note. 

Celia put out a hand, but Mrs. Duval did not see 
it. She had found her handkerchief and was dab¬ 
bing at her delicate pink nostrils. “You’ll never 

know-” she tried again, “how much Mr. Duval 

and I- If Angela—if anything had happened 

to our dear darling- Oh, Celia, it was just too 

fortunate—your being so near! But then, of course, 
Angela’s guardian angel must have been—but you 
—were given the privilege-” 

She dropped into the low chair that had held 
Celia’s aunt a few moments before, and sobbed softly 
into the tiny lace-edged square. “It might—have— 
ended—so terribly!” 

Celia moved uncomfortably, then reached to pat 
with timid hand the linen-clad knee. 












146 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“It’s over now, Mrs. Duval. At least—I hope— 
Angela’s all right. She isn’t-?” 

“Just the shock, dear. I’m afraid it will be some 
time—before she’s her own dear self again. She was 
badly frightened. Now eat your breakfast, dear. 
I know you’ll find it appetizing. Sally herself in¬ 
sisted on arranging it.” 

If it had not been for that, Celia would have barely 
tasted the tempting food, but she was not proof 
against Sally’s solicitude. As it was, she ate with a 
certain enjoyment of the tempting viands in the deli¬ 
cate china banded in blue and gold, and when she 
had finished, she searched the room with anxious 
eyes for something that might be used for wearing 
apparel. She must make another attempt to leave. 

She wondered where they had put her bathing- 
suit. In the bathroom most likely. Which door was 
it? she wondered. Everything had been changed 
since last she had been here. 

As her eyes roved about the big room, they came 
to rest suddenly upon a photograph of a young man 
propped among the gold-topped toilet articles on 
the blue and gold dressing-table. She considered it 
thoughtfully. 

“He looks,” she said softly, “like the picture of 
that Russian prince with the unpronounceable name 
in the rotogravure section of last Sunday’s paper. 
I wonder if it could be that Julian Strassman.” 



AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION 147 

She had an urgent impulse to get up and scrutinize 
at closer range the signature sprawling across a 
lower corner, then she turned away her head deliber¬ 
ately. She didn’t like Julian Strassman at all. He 
had been horrid to Sally. He had hurt Sally. But, 
without realizing it, she was again scrutinizing the 
photograph. 

She could make out a J and an S. Yes, it must be 
he! So this was Julian Strassman—this handsome 
youth with the dark serious eyes, high sloping fore¬ 
head, crisp dark hair brushed so immaculately into 
place, slender nose, and just a hint of petulance in 
the curve of mouth and chin. No wonder Sally had 
been drawn toward him! 

She lay for a moment, pondering the matter of 
Sally’s feeling for him whom she disliked so much 
that she did not want to see him again, and yet whom 
she liked so well that she kept his picture on her 
dressing-table. 

Sally, tiptoeing into the room, put an end to her 
cogitations. 

“I thought you’d want to know, Celia, that your 
brother is calling over long distance to ask about you. 
Mrs. Duval sent for your aunt to talk to him, since 
you’re not able to be up.” 


CHAPTER XII 


TED CARSON 

“My brother?” exclaimed Celia shrilly, sitting bolt 
upright and staring wide-eyed at Sally. 

“Yes. Your brother. I didn’t know you had a 
brother, Celia.” 

“My brother?” Ceila shrilled again, her face such 
a study in glad surprise and puzzled disbelief that 
Sally, in some alarm, hastened to say: 

“Yes, of course. Don’t you understand, Celia? 
Your brother is calling over long distance. I sup¬ 
pose he read in the paper this morning about your 
getting hurt when you rescued Angela from the lake, 
and he wants to know how you’re getting along. It 
was on the front page, Celia, in big headlines. I 
don’t think the Duvals were especially pleased, but 
when a reporter came last night, I happened to be 
on the portico and so I told him all about it without 
thinking that perhaps I should have consulted them 
first. But I thought people all over the State should 
know how brave you are!” 

“But you said my brother1” a little piteously. 

148 


TED CARSON 


149 


“You can’t mean—my brother, Sally! Maybe it’s 
—Uncle Steve.” 

“No. He said very plainly it was Ted Carson, 
calling from Clayton Springs. The operator’s wait¬ 
ing now for your aunt so she can make the connection 
again.” 

“But, Sally!” laughter and tears battling for 
supremacy as she flung back the bed clothes and 
swung her feet to the floor. “If it’s Ted—my 
brother—I’ve got to talk—to him—myself! Why, 
I haven’t seen Ted—since—since-” 

“But you can’t, Celia! The doctor said positively 
you weren’t to move, and you mustn’t get so ex¬ 
cited!” considerably alarmed at the hysterical condi¬ 
tion of the girl, who staggered toward the door, 
clutching the silken coverlet which she had snatched 
from the bed about her quivering shoulders. 

“I—I’ve— got —to ” her lips trembling pa¬ 
thetically; then she slumped limply into the arms 
Sally flung quickly about her. 

When Celia came to herself again, her head was 
throbbing painfully, and it was some minutes before 
she saw the silent figure by her bedside in the dark¬ 
ened room, and remembered. 

Again she threw back the bed clothes and at¬ 
tempted to sit up. “Is it—really—Ted, Aunt 
Clem?” 

“Now, Celia!” the gentle voice soothed, as Aunt 












150 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Clem leaned forward and pressed the girl firmly and 
resolutely back among the pillows and spread the 
coverlet over her. “You’ve just got to take this 
more calmly. That was a bad blow you got, and 
you can’t let yourself get all excited. Now, just 
calm yourself, and I’ll tell you everything he said.” 

“Then he’s gone?” mournful disappointment in 
her voice. 

“Yes, of course. It was half an hour ago.” 

Celia moaned her disgust for herself then ex¬ 
claimed, “Is he coming to see me? Did he remem¬ 
ber-?” 

She leaned forward again, tense, straining for 
what was to come. 

“Now, Celia,” rubbing a withered hand gently 
over the soft brown arm. “There’s things we’ve just 
got to bear—things we can’t seem to help ” 

“Bear?” staring bewilderedly. “You mean—he’s 
not coming? That he-?” 

“He wanted to, Celia. He was all for coming 
right away. He wanted to make sure that you were 
his sister. That’s why he called.” 

“Then, when is he coming?” 

“He isn’t coming at all, Celia.” The old voice 
quavered uncertainly, and she continued to stroke 
soothingly the arm that was now clinging to hers. 
“I—I just couldn’t let him, Celia.” 


“You—couldn’t—let—him, Aunt Clem? You 








TED CARSON 


151 


mean you wouldn’t let my very own brother, whom 
I haven’t seen for years and years, come to see me— 
when he wanted to?” her voice shrill with indignation 
and unbelief. 

“But you don’t understand, Celia,” Aunt Clem 
went on, desperately unhappy. “I made a promise 
—years ago. I gave Ted to those people who 
adopted him. I promised I’d never have any com¬ 
munication with him again, that I’d do my best to 
make you forget him.” 

“But, Aunt Clem, it was he—who-” 

“I know, Celia, but the spirit of the thing is just 
the same. I told him what I’m telling you. Those 
people have been real parents to him. They’ve done 
more for him than I ever could. He owes them—at 
least he ought to respect the agreement we made un¬ 
til he’s twenty-one, anyway. He’s nineteen now, 
Celia. In two more years, if he still wants to get 
in touch with you, it’ll be his privilege, I guess, but, 
until then, I just can’t be a party to-” 

“And—and he—agreed to wait?” her voice sick 
with disappointment. 

“He wouldn’t agree to anything, Celia. It strikes 
me he’s considerably spoiled.” 

“Oh, Aunt Clem!” sitting up straight now and 
laughing excitedly. “I always knew that Ted 
would—that Ted wouldn’t let anything keep him 
away—once he had a chance-” 









152 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Now, Celia, it’s not right for you to talk so. You 

young people don’t stop to consider- There’s 

things I can’t tell you, Celia. Reasons-” She 

shook her head stubbornly. “I’ve given my prom¬ 
ise, Celia. Besides, he’s not coming, so you may as 
well try to put him out of your mind. I told 

him-” She paused a moment, then went on; 

“I hope God forgives me, but I told him you were 
feeling fine and that you were leaving almost at once 
to visit a friend, so you wouldn’t be here, even if he 
were determined to come. You see, Sally told me 
about wanting to take you home with her. It’s just 
too fortunate. It’ll give you a chance to get real well 
again, to have a good time, and to put this brother of 
yours out of your mind.” 

“I’ll never put him out of my mind, Aunt Clem!” 
passionately. “I’ve thought of him all my life—and 
I’ve written-” 

“Yes, I know, Celia. It’s what makes me feel so 
bad. I thought I was doing what was best for him, 
but now I’m not so sure, knowing how you’ve always 
felt about him. But I made that promise, and I’ve 
got to stick to it.” 

Celia slumped back among her pillows. So Ted 
had found her, as she had always thought he would, 
only to be denied seeing her. It wasn’t fair, either 
to her or to him, even though Aunt Clem had made a 
promise. She should never have been allowed to 







TED CARSON 


153 


make such a promise, for it was not right to separate 
brothers and sisters, especially when they loved one 
another; and surely Ted must love her, though he 
couldn’t as much as she loved him. She thought over 
those days of her childhood when she had clung to the 
belief that Ted would write to her sometime, and had 
hung over the gate day after day, waiting for the 
postman to bring Ted’s letter that never came. 

And now—now when he was so near—to be de¬ 
nied seeing him! It wasn’t fair. Clayton Springs. 
Sally had said he was calling from Clayton Springs. 
Wasn’t Clayton Springs up in the northern part of 
the State? And wasn’t Inglenook also? 

A little thrill of excitement went through her at 
her daring thought. If she went to Sally’s, what was 
to prevent her from going on to Clayton Springs and 
finding Ted or getting in touch with him by phone? 
Even though Aunt Clem had made a promise, she 
hadn’t. Aunt Clem wouldn’t be responsible if she, 
of her own accord, communicated with Ted. 

Her aunt evidently divined what was responsible 
for the pleased expression in her niece’s eyes, for she 
said quickly, “You’ll promise me, won’t you, Celia, 
that you won’t try to see him or talk to him when you 
go to Sally’s? I just won’t have any peace of mind 
at all while you’re away, if you don’t promise me.” 

“Oh, Aunt Clem,” disappointedly, “you would 
think of that!” 



154 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“There’s reasons, serious reasons, Celia, why you 
mustn’t be together, why no one must know 
you’re related—anyway, till he’s old enough to de¬ 
cide -” 

“But can’t you tell me the reasons?” somewhat 
petulantly. 

“No, I just can’t, Celia. I promised. Though it 
don’t seem right you shouldn’t know. It couldn’t 
really do any harm for you to know, for I’m sure 
you’d do the right thing and keep silent, but I can’t 
go against my promise, Celia. Besides, if it’s God’s 
will, he’ll manage to bring you two together.” 

“But don’t you think, Aunt Clem, that He expects 
us to help make things happen? It seems to me He 
must have wanted Ted to find me, or all this wouldn’t 
have happened—Angela’s accident, and Sally’s tell¬ 
ing a reporter, and Ted’s being at the Springs, and 
his reading about it, and his ’phoning here. It just 
seems to me-” 

“Now, Celia,” sinking a little wearily into her 
chair. “Don’t begin that all over again. You’ve 
just got to believe me. That promise I made con¬ 
cerns other people too deeply to be broken for any 
reason. You just hurry up and get well and go up 
to Inglenook with Sally, and have a real good time 
with Angela and all of them while you have the 
chance, and maybe in a couple of years Ted will come 
to see you, that is-” 






TED CARSON 


155 


A tear rolled out from each of Celia’s eyes. “I 
guess I’ll have to—’cause you know I wouldn’t do 
anything—to—hurt you, Aunt Clem. But I can’t 
help—feeling—pretty bad. It just doesn’t seem 

fair, with Ted so near-” 

She swallowed determinedly, and a faint smile 
flitted across her face. “Maybe, after all, it’s best 

to wait. In two years I-” 

She did not go on, but she was thinking that in 
two years maybe she might be something more than 
just a worker in the pottery. If she could see Mr. 
Vandever’s collection at Inglenook—those figurines 
—read his books, learn all she could, she might learn 

enough—she might get some ideas- 

She looked down at her slim brown hands lying 
inert on the coverlet and was conscious of that old 
tingling sensation that had so often puzzled her—a 
feeling of power, stored somewhere within the slen¬ 
der fingers. If only she knew what to do with 
them, how to guide them toward something, some 
achievement that would make Ted approve of her. 

She was suddenly determined that nothing should 
keep her from going to Inglenook. She must see 
those things, read those books, and when Ted came 
again in two years— Two years! They seemed 
like a lifetime, but they wouldn’t be any too long in 
which to accomplish the well-nigh impossible, for, 
though one section of her mind said, “You can do 












156 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


anything if you try hard enough,” another said, 
“Jared’ll probably be able to work soon, and you’ll 
go back to just trimming the molded pieces.” 

“But I’m going to Inglenook!” she said fiercely 
to herself. “It’s my one chance!” 

Her determination and the vista it opened up to 
her aided surprisingly in her recovery, and by the 
next day she was able to walk about the room with¬ 
out having everything swirling in drunken circles. 
And when Angela came lounging in during one of 
Sally’s momentary absences, Celia was so much her 
old self that she greeted her with a smile as ingenuous 
as those she used to bestow upon her in the old days 
when they played “lady-come-to-see” in the garden. 

But Angela’s response was faint. She drew her 
blue chiffon boudoir-robe a bit tighter about her 
slim figure and slid onto the low seat in front of the 
vanity, where she considered her image in the mirror 
for a moment; then she turned with mild gaze to 
Celia. 

“I’m extremely sorry about your head, Celia. 
You know, of course, I wasn’t responsible. I hope 
it hasn’t been too painful.” 

“Not very. And I’m sorry to have put you all to 
so much trouble.” 

“It’ s as little as we could do; though, if it hadn’t 
been for you, I don’t suppose it would have hap¬ 
pened.” 


TED CARSON 157 

Celia flushed, but said nothing. She was leaving 
just as soon as Aunt Clem came with her clothing. 

“But I do want to thank you, Celia. You cer¬ 
tainly saved-” 

“If I hadn’t, some of the others would,” Celia re¬ 
marked as coolly as she could. 

Angela nodded. “It’s what I told Mother, but 
she insists on being all upset and wants to do some¬ 
thing for you in return.” 

Celia shook her head. “I don’t want any reward. 
It 5 s as you said. It was partly my fault it hap¬ 
pened.” 

“Not your fault ” Angela conceded graciously, 
“though if it hadn’t been for the way you’ve made 

over Sally Vandever- But we won’t go into 

that. Mother thought by now you might be sorry 
you chose to work in the pottery instead of Dad’s 
bank, and if you are, you’ve only to say so.” 

Celia shook her head. “No, I’m not sorry.” 

“But now that it’s closed, how can you afford to 
be idle?” clasping her white hands about one blue- 
covered knee. “You could start in the bank to-mor¬ 
row if you’re well enough.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t, Angela. You see, Sally— 
Sally has asked me up to Inglenook for a little visit 
while the pottery’s closed.” 

“Yes, she told us,” Angela said quickly. “It’s 
just one of those wild notions that people with money 




158 CELIA’S CHOICE 

sometimes take. You wouldn’t for a moment con¬ 
sider accepting?” 

“Why not?” Celia asked, a hint of ire in her voice 
as she gazed straight into Angela’s eyes. “Our pay 
is to go on until the pottery reopens.” 

“Oh, is it? Well, there are a dozen other reasons, 
Celia, why you shouldn’t.” 

“There’s one why I should,” Celia responded, 
“and I’m afraid it’s more important to me than the 
dozen why I shouldn’t,” and regretted instantly the 
remark, for Angela’s head lifted with a quick ges¬ 
ture of displeasure. 

“It’s nothing to me whether you go or stay, but I 

—I—like you too well, Celia, to see you- I’d 

like to save you, if possible, the embarrassment— 
the humiliation-” 

“Thanks, Angela.” It was Celia’s turn to stam¬ 
mer. “I—I—know—how—you feel, but-” 

Her eyes wandered to the photograph of Julian 
Strassman still in its place on Sally’s dresser. She 
stared at it, absently at first, then more intently, for 
she was wondering suddenly whether Ted, her 
brother, could possibly be so handsome and attractive 
as this youth whom Sally had found so difficult. 

So intent was she upon her thoughts that she did 
not notice the interested light in Angela’s brown 
eyes, nor the amused smile of satisfaction that curled 
the corners of her small red mouth. 










TED CARSON 


159 


“Well,” she said at length, rising and stretching 
her white arms languidly above her head, then stroll¬ 
ing to the doorway where she paused impressively. 
“I think I know just what your reason is. I do wish 
you luck, though I’m afraid you’ll be badly disap¬ 
pointed,” and she stepped aside to make way for 
Celia’s aunt, who carried on her arm the apparel for 
which Celia was waiting. 

“As though she could guess!” Celia smiled to her¬ 
self. Then her eyes became thoughtful as she re¬ 
alized just how much was involved in her prospective 
visit to Inglenook. 


CHAPTER XIII 


INGLENOOK 

Though Celia was firm in her determination to 
make the most of her opportunity to visit Inglenook, 
she was really just a little frightened at the ordeal 
that was before her, for the more she thought about 
it, the more she realized that Angela had probably 
been right in attempting to persuade her to abandon 
her proposed visit. Sober thought convinced her 
that she couldn’t possibly fit into the lives and activi¬ 
ties of those who dwelt there, even for a brief time. 

But she set her teeth firmly. “Pm going to bluff 
it through, anyway, so that I can find out what I want 
to know,” she declared, “and I mean to enjoy all I 
can of it, too.” 

With this thought in mind, her fears gradually 
receded, for she knew without doubt that there 
would be much to enjoy. 

The long drive in the blue car beside Sally, through 
an undulating country of lovely homes, sleepy vil¬ 
lages, across shimmering streams and through dim 

160 


INGLENOOK 


161 


cool woods, had seemed more like a dream than real¬ 
ity, but she knew that she must not lose herself as 
one did in dreams. She must keep her wits about her 
constantly. She must not do the least thing to em¬ 
barrass Sally or to make her sorry that she had in¬ 
vited her. 

She had expected to find Inglenook somewhat 
more impressive than the Duvals’ home and had 
schooled herself not to be overawed by anything. 
But, in spite of her resolution, her first glimpse of 
the big sprawling stone house through its screen of 
huge old trees did not in any way add to her assur¬ 
ance. She knew in a vague way that they left behind 
a tall iron gateway, that a curving drive wound 
through a park almost as large as the whole of New- 
tonville. As they approached the house, she saw a 
gently sloping lawn dotted here and there with giant 
oaks. Off toward the rear was a tennis court, and 
beyond, past the kitchen garden, she caught a 
glimpse of the glass roofs of hothouses gleaming in 
the sun. They rounded a curve and stopped under 
the porte-cochere. 

Sally nodded ahead with a little smile of content¬ 
ment. 

“The prettiest view is on the east side. You can’t 
see the garden from here. Wait till you see it by 
moonlight!” Then she caught her lower lip between 
her white teeth, as though to hide the emotion she 


162 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


had displayed, honked loudly, threw open the door 
of the car, and slid from under the wheel. 

“Well, here we are, Celia!” with a mock bow. 

Celia felt that she should have responded, but 
words refused to come. It was all a little too unreal, 
a little too overawing. She hadn’t expected any¬ 
thing quite like this. She climbed out, smoothing 
as best she could the wrinkles from her pongee skirt. 

What happened next was a bit bewildering. She 
had a vague impression of hovering servants, a dim 
passageway, and a long, wide hall up which a stair¬ 
case curled, its wrought-iron railing threaded with 
growing ivy. From the hall she caught a vista of a 
huge living-room with high beamed ceiling, a bal¬ 
cony at one end, and at the other an enormous fire¬ 
place of field stones, over which hung a pair of deer 
antlers. There were soft divans filled with many- 
hued cushions, tables, ornate and plain, a great 
carved chest, gleaming floors over which thick silky 
rugs splashed the varied colors of their intricate de¬ 
signs. Tall heavily carved chairs stood in dignified 
solemnity at intervals along the walls. 

Sally was demanding imperiously, “Where’s 
Mother?” 

One of the maids responded apologetically, “She’s 
at the Springs, Miss Sally. There was a lunch- 


“And Dad?” 



INGLENOOK 


163 


“He’s away just now.” 

“For long?” 

“Just a few days.” 

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said, turning to Celia. 
“It would have been too bad if we’d missed him en¬ 
tirely, wouldn’t it? Come along,” nodding toward 
the stairs. “We’ll freshen up while we’re waiting 
for Mother.” 

Celia followed Sally and the maid up the stairs, 
through a wide hall, and into a cool, low-ceilinged 
room, its leaden windows hung with ruffled Swiss. 
The narrow bed and the dressing table were also 
hung with the same dainty material. Hand-woven 
rugs of pink and white lay on the polished floor. 

“It’s just the kind of a room Aunt Clem would 
love,” Celia thought wistfully, wishing she could see 
it. 

Sally motioned the maid from the room, then 
threw open the mirrored door of a deep closet. 

“I’ve always wanted to play fairy godmother to 
some one, Celia,” she said with an embarrassed little 
laugh. “I guess you’re it. I hope they fit. I had to 
order them by wire. If they don’t, Mother’s seam¬ 
stress will make any alterations necessary.” 

Celia stood for one stunned moment and gazed on 
the array of frocks hanging from the long rod. She 
had not expected anything of this sort; in fact, she 
had in the last few minutes thought with considerable 


164 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


misgiving of her own wearing apparel. It would 
look wretchedly out of place in such an establishment 
as this. Why hadn’t she had the sense to realize it 
sooner? 

She and her aunt had spent a hectic day and 
night, getting her things in shape and rushing to the 
store to purchase a few additional things which 
seemed necessary for a visit of such importance. 

“If you mean to stay only a few days, Celia,” her 
aunt had reflected, “there’s no use worrying. Your 
white graduation dress is pretty enough for eve¬ 
nings. There’s nothing prettier on young girls than 
white. Your little pongee skirt and green sweater 
will do to wear in the car and for mornings, and 
there’ll be your blue and your pink flowered voiles 
for afternoons. You can wear your tennis shoes 
mornings and your black pumps the rest of the time. 
Black is always good with anything.” 

Now Celia stood speechless, torn for a moment 
between pleasure and humiliation. 

“You’re not to mind at all, Celia,” Sally hurried 
on. “You know I have my own income from Grand¬ 
mother’s estate, besides the allowance Dad gives me. 
He likes me to spend money. It’s his excuse for mak¬ 
ing more. And it was fun planning it. I had hoped 
you’d be pleased. You see, I do want you to 

feel-” She didn’t finish her sentence, but Celia 

understood. 



INGLENOOK 


165 


Sally wanted her to feel that she belonged in these 
luxurious surroundings. 

She couldn’t have been offended, had she wanted 
to be, not with Sally’s arm about her while she nod¬ 
ded at the row of slippers and the hat-boxes on the 
shelf. 

“You see, Celia,” with a little hug, “I mean to 
keep you for more than just a few days. I want you 
until the pottery reopens, anyway, so you may as 
well make up your mind to enjoy this visit. Now, 
have a bath and rest for an hour or so after lunch. 
I’ll have a tray sent up. Suppose you put on the 
yellow chiffon. Mother’s bound to have a lot of 
people in for tea. She always does. She can’t seem 
to breathe unless the atmosphere is all cluttered up 
with people. You’ll find underthings to match in the 
dresser,” she added, moving toward the hall. “The 
bath is there,” nodding to a door partly ajar, through 
which Celia caught the gleam of onyx and green tile, 
shining fixtures, and great thick towels. 

Left alone, she moved automatically from bath to 
closet, from closet to drawers, laden with delicate, 
fragrant garments. 

“I can’t!” she kept saying over and over. “I can’t 
use these things,” and paused once to stare down at 
her hands. 

“If—if there—were some way—something I 
could—do for her—in return-” 




166 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


All those vague, half-defined longings of hers 
were again focused, but with new insistence, in her 
finger-tips. They clamored for attention. Unhap¬ 
pily she tried to concentrate on the problem before 
her, but they wirelessed to her brain that it was of 
no use. “You’ve got to make the most of this op¬ 
portunity. You may never have another. And you 
can’t let her be ashamed of you. You can’t let her 
be sorry she asked you. You’ve got to manage to 
act as though you belong, as though all your life 
you’ve worn such things as these. You’ve got to 
make her glad that she asked you.” 

She lifted her head and stared thoughtfully at her¬ 
self between the flowered draperies of the mirror 
over the dressing-table; then she took another look 
at the row of frocks hanging in the closet. How 
could Sally have thought she’d need so many things? 
She couldn’t possibly stay long enough to use them. 
She had intended staying only a few days, just long 
enough to see Mr. Vandever’s collection and investi¬ 
gate the contents of his books. She couldn’t even 
take time to read them. If she found out what they 
were and where to get them, she meant to have some 
for herself sometime, no matter how long it took to 
save the money for them. 

Stretched among the cool cretonne cushions of the 
wicker chaise longue, she tried to doze, but the ex¬ 
citement of her arrival and Sally’s unexpected sur- 


INGLENOOK 


167 


prise had set her blood to racing. Never in her life 
could she remember feeling so happy. Those lovely 
frocks, slippers, and underthings, this room, the gor¬ 
geous views of rolling country from each window, 
the books, the porcelains and figurines awaiting her 
attention! Days of this! It was unbelievable that 
such good fortune could have come to her. 

If only she could have seen Ted! It was the one 
thing that saddened her. But she must not let such 
thoughts spoil this wonderful visit. He would come 
again, of that she was sure, and in the meantime she 
would bend every energy she possessed toward im¬ 
proving herself so that, when he came, he need not 
feel ashamed of her. 

A little later she surveyed her reflection in the long 
mirror of the closet door in pleased surprise. It was 
really incredible that clothes could make such a dif¬ 
ference in one’s appearance. She had never even 
hoped to look like this girl. It surely couldn’t be 
she, Celia Carson of the dusty overalls and simple 
little prints—this girl in the pale yellow chiffon 
frock, its wide bertha of heavy lace rippling over 
her arms, its snug waist flaring out into flounces that 
danced tantalizingly above hose and slippers of a 
matching shade. 

Carefully she adjusted a curling lock of shining 
brown hair over the red scar high up on her fore¬ 
head, the result of the blow she had received from 



168 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Angela’s canoe paddle. She was thankful it had 
been close to her hair; not that it mattered much, but 
it would have spoiled this lovely ensemble. 

She wondered if Sally meant to come for her or if 
she expected her to go down alone. She rather 
dreaded descending that imposing staircase, crossing 
that huge living-room to the terrace. 

She heard low voices drifting up from below. 
Sally must be down there awaiting her. She opened 
her door, certain now of the murmuring voices. 
Then, bracing her shoulders and with head erect, she 
started toward the stairs. She strolled with studied 
ease downward, a careless hand trailing the railing 
after the manner of one of her favorite screen stars. 

On the landing she paused in dismay. She could 
see, down the stairs through the grilled doors that 
led from living-room to terrace, two maids and a 
stately butler busy with silver and glass about a tea- 
table. There was no sign of guests. 

She must get back to her room, but, as she turned 
to ascend, she heard a door open and Sally’s voice 
mingling with a deeper, richer one that she knew at 
once belonged to Sally’s mother, for her words came 
quite distinctly. 

“I thought that when you finished at Worthing¬ 
ton Hall, you would have acquired the proper per¬ 
spective. If you knew how humiliated I was! Your 
tearing off that way when you had guests here! I 


INGLENOOK 


169 


can’t imagine what your father was thinking of to 
encourage you to stay there! And then your wanting 
to entertain those girls here—girls I’ve never even 
heard of. And the one you brought with you—just 
who is she?” 

“Oh, Mother—wait until you see her! I never 
knew any one so nice! She’s-” 

The rest of the speech was lost to Celia, for she 
turned quickly to find some place of concealment. 
She couldn’t pass that open door where mother and 
daughter were so obviously discussing her, and she 
couldn’t stand here and listen. She couldn’t go down 
and stand around among the servants. 

To her relief, she found that the stained-glass win¬ 
dow behind her was really a door that opened on a 
tiny balcony. She stepped out upon it, hurriedly 
moving to one side so that she could not be seen by 
any one descending the stairs. 

But she did not escape the sound of the voices. 
They were even more distinct than before. With 
mounting embarrassment, she heard: 

“Well, at least she’s a lady, Mother!” Sally was 
defending her in a level voice. 

“A lady? Just what is your definition of a lady, 
Sally?” her mother wanted to know. 

“A lady? Why, it seems to me a lady is one who 
never—consciously hurts the feelings—of—of any 
one! 








170 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


There was a moment’s silence. 

“I’m glad you know that, Sally, but really, a 

lady- Well, there are a few more requirements, 

my dear. One’s scrubwoman might be a perfect lady 
if that were the only consideration, and yet one would 
hardly feel like admitting her to one’s social world.” 

“But if she had the right clothes, Mother, and edu- • 
cation, and had a chance-” 

“Now, there you have it, Sally. It takes all those 
things, you see, to make people congenial. And even 
among those who have had all the advantages of 
money, position, and breeding, one must know how 
to choose those who respond to some quality in one¬ 
self. It’s the only way to be really happy in one’s 
friendships.” 

“But that’s just it, Mother!” Sally’s voice rose 
animatedly. “Celia does respond to something in 
me. She’s the first girl I ever knew whom I could 
really love. And don’t you see, Mother—why, I 
want her to have a chance-” 

“I’m afraid you’re making a big mistake, Sally. 
There isn’t a girl anywhere who wouldn’t flatter you 
and pretend to be fond of you for the chance of being 
invited here and having you provide proper ap¬ 
parel -” 

“Celia has neither flattered me nor pretended to be 
fond of me, though I’m sure she does like me a lot. 
She’s too reserved to discuss her feelings. I’m de- 






INGLENOOK 


171 


pending on the look I’ve seen in her eyes. You can 
depend more on what people’s eyes say, sometimes, 
I think, than on what their lips say.” 

“I didn’t know you were so wise, Sally. Well, I 
wish you luck in your little experiment. It may 
really be a good lesson, and I hope a harmless one. 
At least, you’ll learn to choose your friends from 
among your parents’ acquaintances. What I’m won¬ 
dering is how you’re going to explain her to Julian.” 

“Explain her to Julian?” 

“Yes. He went away so hurt at the way you had 
treated him that I invited him down again when 
I saw him at the Springs this morning.” 

“And he’s coming?” a little shrilly. 

“Yes. I rather think he’ll get here about sundown. 
Now, do hurry, Sally, dear. I’m expecting some¬ 
thing of a crowd this afternoon.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


A GARDEN IN THE MOONLIGHT 

“My, but you look lovely!” Sally exclaimed as she 
eyed Celia approvingly. 

She did not guess that Celia’s flushed cheeks and 
bright eyes were due to the conversation she had just 
overheard and her breathless haste to reach her own 
room the moment she heard Mrs. Vandever’s door 
close. But, swallowing her pride as best she could, 
she returned Sally’s smile. 

“You have yourself to thank, you know.” 

“Not entirely. Clothes help, of course, Celia, 
but—well, there’s no need of my telling you what a 
beauty you are. Mirrors don’t lie. You have only 
to look.” She waved a gay hand toward it. 

“I did,” Celia told her, her lashes drooping shyly. 
“I feel like the little old woman in the Mother Goose 
rhyme: ‘This can be none of I.’ ” 

Sally laughed and tucked her arm in Celia’s. 
“Come! Let’s go down. Mother’ll be wondering. 
She rather depends on me to help things go. Now, 
remember, you’re a school friend of mine, if any one 

172 


A GARDEN IN THE MOONLIGHT 173 

asks questions. It isn’t necessary to go into details. 
You don’t need to drag out the truth—that you work 
in a pottery. You and I don’t care, and what the 
others don’t know won’t hurt them. There, now!” 
as she flung open the door, and the murmur of gay 
voices and tinkling laughter floated up to them. 
“Sounds like a flock of magpies, doesn’t it?” she 
asked, as she hurried Celia through the hall. 

“You and I don’t care!” It was the warmth as well 
as the words that sent flying all Celia’s bitter 
thoughts resulting from that overheard conversation. 

Her heart fluttering uncertainly, she moved down 
the stairs, arm in arm with Sally, through the living- 
room and out upon the terrace. 

She had not imagined anything quite like this. She 
had not guessed how necessary it would be to pose as 
one belonging to Sally’s world, and, though she had 
felt there would be some difficulties in adjusting her¬ 
self to the mode of living of the Vandevers, she had 
not had experience enough to anticipate the form it 
might assume. 

Sally’s mother greeted her with the apparent 
warmth she would have bestowed on any of Sally’s 
schoolmates, but, remembering her recent conver¬ 
sation with Sally, Celia was able to gauge correctly 
the sweet smile and friendliness in the hazel eyes. 

“So pleased to have you with us,” Mrs. Vandever 
murmured, the fluttering ends of her flowered- 



174 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


chiffon sleeves sending out a faint intoxicating per¬ 
fume as she patted Celia’s tense little hand. 

But, to Celia’s surprise, she caught Mrs. Van- 
dever’s puzzled gaze upon her more than once in the 
next few minutes, and, each time before turning away 
her head, Mrs. Vandever smiled upon her in such a 
fashion that Celia forgave her at once, wholly and 
completely, for that overheard conversation. 

Her heart considerably lighter, Celia acknowl¬ 
edged introductions, smiled upon one, accepted a 
seat beside another, shared the breeze from another’s 
fan, strolled down the terrace steps and about the 
garden with others, sipped iced tea from a tall slen¬ 
der glass and munched tea cakes and sandwiches 
with still others as though she were perfectly at ease. 
But she had a deep-seated conviction that she was 
just a cheap little cheat, crowding in among those 
who would not have accorded her even a withering 
glance, had they known just who and what she was. 
And she felt that soon, very soon, some one would 
point a finger at her and cry, “She doesn’t belong! 
She doesn’t belong!” 

It surprised her that they were so cordial in their 
acceptance of her, but she knew it was only because 
they thought of her as Sally’s friend. Their friend¬ 
liness only accentuated her feeling of disgust for 
herself. 

“Ah, the Southhampton Carsons!” one had mur- 


A GARDEN IN THE MOONLIGHT 175 


mured, and lifted a jeweled lorgnette to study Celia 
more closely. 

Celia smiled disengagingly and drifted on. 

“Don’t let them press you for details,” Sally had 
said, but she felt more than a little guilty when she 
heard the woman confide to an eager listener, “And 
I understood they had sent her to a convent in 
France. So wise—for these days, when the young 
are so determined to be themselves! Isn’t she a 
dear! Those guileless eyes-” 

She watched Sally furtively and strove to be as 
near like her as possible. It amazed her—the ease 
with which Sally maneuvered the guests to the tea- 
tables, kept them laughing, circulating about the 
terrace and through the gardens. It was a new 
Sally, a witty, sparkling Sally, one Celia had never 
seen before. It awed her just a bit, and when Sally 
sank limply beside her on a marble seat under the 
colonnade alongside the pool, fanned herself with the 
end of the green chiffon cape that fell over her shoul¬ 
der, and gasped, “I feel like a rag! For two cents 
I’d jump right into the pool,” Celia had a feeling 
that Sally had tricked her in some way. She knew 
that she would never have dared to thrust herself 
upon the Sally so skilled in the art of social inter¬ 
course. 

“Thank heaven it’s nearly over, and we’ll get a 
plunge before dinner.” Sally’s voice softened to a 





176 CELIA’S CHOICE 

confidential note. “Mother’s invited another crowd 
for to-night—younger. You dance, don’t you?” 

Celia nodded. Dancing, she imagined, would be 
less of a strain than conversation. And that sunken 
garden beyond the pool would be waiting. She could 
slip away. It would be heavenly just to sit there and 
listen to the music and breathe the scented air of those 
massed blooms. 

“Julian—Strassman is coming,” Sally said with a 
queer little jerk to her words. “You remember my 
telling you about him? Mother asked him down 
again. I do have the rottenest luck.” 

Celia nodded. “Perhaps,” she said, “he’s sorry. 
If he’s coming again, doesn’t that prove that he does 
like you, that he does want to see you?” 

She felt suddenly just a little jealous of the hand¬ 
some youth that she knew held such an important 
place in Sally’s thoughts. She was almost sorry that 
he was coming; yet it might give her more chance to 
be alone with Mr. Vandever’s books. She was just 
a little impatient to get at them. 

The last of the motor-cars purring around the 
drive, Sally insisted they must have their plunge. 

They stayed in the pool until Mrs. Vandever sent 
an imperious demand that Sally go at once to her 
room and rest. Did she want to look like a piece 
of crinkled crepe paper that evening? 

Dinner was something of an ordeal for Celia. 




A GARDEN IN THE MOONLIGHT 177 


Dressed in pale green, with floating bits of ostrich 
about her skirt and iridescent straps holding up her 
scant bodice, she was a perfect complement to the 
frail mass of pink tulle which enveloped Sally. They 
might have been stray, sun-tinged clouds that had 
been caught unawares this side of the horizon before 
the fall of night. 

She sat directly opposite Sally and managed to 
observe each of Sally’s movements so that, though 
she was conscious of a sense of strain, she was able to 
avoid making any of the mistakes she had feared. 

“One only needs good common sense,” she said to 
herself encouragingly, as she lifted her glass to her 
lips by its frail stem. 

Sally seemed entirely unaware of Celia’s care¬ 
ful attention to the details of dining. She chattered 
to first one and then another of her mother’s friends 
who were staying on for the evening, occasionally 
sending a glowing smile in Celia’s direction. 

It was not until coffee was served and Celia had 
regained a measure of confidence in herself that she 
had a chance to observe the rich tapestry paneling of 
the walls, the huge heavily carved buffets on each side 
of the long room, the tall wrought-iron urns beside 
the black-walnut mantel, that spilled Wandering 
Jew to the floor. 

How she would have loved to have Aunt Clem see 
all this—the chandeliers of brass and many colored 


178 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


bits of crystal, the tall chairs, the exquisite silver, 
glass, and china! 

Night brought a pronounced sense of unreality to 
Celia, with the soft-tinted glow of many lamps fall¬ 
ing on corners of rich rugs, the polished surfaces of 
tables, and the luxuriant thickness of rich draperies; 
old prints and portraits of dignified men and women 
in oil, the overhead lights accentuating their patrician 
features. 

She strolled about from one room to another, then 
paused in delight before a lacquer cabinet far back 
in a corner of a little room at the end of a passage. 
Her fingers longed to trace the beautifully carved 
base, but the impulse died when she discovered its 
contents. These must be Mr. Vandever’s treasures 
—these lovely plates, bowls, trays, figures! 

But before she had more than realized the truth 
of her discovery, Sally’s voice came to her from the 
doorway. 

“How did you get in here, Celia? I’ve been look¬ 
ing for you everywhere.” 

“The door was open. Tell me, please,” she 
pleaded, pointing to a tiny figure that might have 
graced the court of Louis the Fourteenth. 

But Sally shook her head and urged her toward 
the door. 

“Mother must have been showing them to some 
one. Dad always keeps this room locked. He’ll be 


A GARDEN IN THE MOONLIGHT 179 

here in a day or two, and he’ll tell you all you want 
to know.” 

“Oh, but, Sally, please just tell me about that 
little jug!” 

“It’s Lowestoft, if that means anything to you. 
It’ll really be best, Celia, for you to read up a little 
before Dad comes; then you’ll be able to understand 
and appreciate them more.” 

“This one with the Chinese scene-” 

“A Spode willow plate. The willow pattern, you 
know, has been used a great deal by different potters. 
It tells the story of the lovers Chang and Koong-see, 
who were finally turned into those two doves at the 
top. You can read about it. Come! I’d better tell 
Mother she left this door unlocked. Dad wouldn’t 
like its being left open.” 

Reluctantly Celia followed her. She would much 
rather spend the evening looking and listening to 
stories of these treasures than she would taking part 
in the activities expected of her. Now that she had 
caught a glimpse of those lovely porcelains and 
figurines, she was avid for information concerning 
them. 

“This lovely blue and white jar!” she exclaimed, 
pausing beside another cabinet. 

“Ming,” Sally responded briefly. 

“But—what does Ming mean? I know it’s Chi¬ 
nese, but-” 




180 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“It’s called Ming because it was made during the 
Ming dynasty, ’way back in thirteen-something, I 
think. The emperor gave the name, Ming, to his en¬ 
tire reign and that of his descendants. It means 
‘bright.’ ” Dad can tell you more about him than I. 
But I know Ming porcelain is characteristically 
white, decorated in blue, though they also used tur¬ 
quoise blue, violet, green, and yellow.” 

“And these little figures?” Celia begged, hovering 
eagerly over a cabinet which held a shelf laden with 
them. 

“Some are Derby, I believe, and Bow. Really, 
I can’t tell you, Celia, which is which. Those, I be¬ 
lieve, are Dresden. The Derby ware, I know, is noted 
for its lovely tints. We must go! I hear cars in the 
drive. Dad’ll tell you everything you want to know. 
You’ve lots of time to see them all.” 

She snatched Celia’s hand and drew her through 
the door toward the voices of young people calling 
from the terrace, where they were spreading from 
the newly arrived cars. 

Celia managed somehow to stay in the background. 
Her mind was too full of thoughts of the lovely 
treasures in the room they had just left and the over¬ 
whelming beauty of the big house to take much in¬ 
terest in the young people, who she knew could never 
mean anything to her. She would have much pre¬ 
ferred to be allowed to wander about alone, to touch 


A GARDEN IN THE MOONLIGHT 181 

this bit of carving, that silken drapery, and stare 
for long minutes at old woodcuts and paintings. 

But, now that night had descended, the outdoors 
was demanding, too, its share of her attention. She 
would have liked to send away the laughing, chatter¬ 
ing young people, who were spilling themselves in 
and out of this fascinating place, breaking the spell 
of its silent appeal. 

Celia soon found out that Sally’s friends were not 
like her mother’s. One was either a “knock-out” or 
a “dim bulb.” It did not take her long to realize 
that the part of “dim bulb” suited her best. She 
could not afford any spot lights turned on her. Al¬ 
though Sally pushed her forward and dragged her 
time and again into the midst of the chattering, hum¬ 
ming cliques, she managed each time to slip away to 
some unobserved corner until routed out again by 
Sally or some one she had sent. 

But after a time they let her alone, and she began 
to feel just a little lonely and sorry for herself, even 
though she knew it was no one’s fault but her own 
that she was not having as gay a time as the others. 

A jazz orchestra on the radio finally drew them in¬ 
doors, and she was just a little glad. It gave her the 
outdoors for herself alone. Leaving her chair, 
where she had taken refuge behind a tubbed olean¬ 
der, she crossed the star-roofed terrace and strolled 
along the colonnade by the pool, where curious Chi- 


182 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


nese lanterns glowed through the tangled drapery of 
heavy vines and were mirrored in the pool’s dark 
surface. 

She lingered there for a time, then went slowly 
along a white path that curved away from the pool. 
The path led to a flight of rough stone steps, down 
which she went slowly and carefully by the light of 
the moon. 

“What right have I to be here?” she kept whisper¬ 
ing over and over. “What right have I to be here?” 

But she made no attempt to answer, for the over¬ 
powering beauty of the garden spread out below her 
was beating upward into her brain, clamoring for 
recognition, for appreciation. 

Once she paused and drew in her breath sharply, 
while she gazed at the moon-drenched garden en¬ 
closed in high green shrubbery. Two tall poplars 
stood like sentinels before a little green gate at the 
far end. Her nostrils twitched with the tantalizing 
odors of the many flowers. 

She tried to analyze the riotous perfumes that 
drifted up to her. She could smell nasturtiums, 
spicy sweet; pungent geraniums; the sickly scent of 
tuberoses and August lilies. She moved about 
slowly, leaning here and then there, sniffing thought¬ 
fully. Then, as a sleep-walker does, she put forth 
a questing hand, scarcely conscious at first of the 
desire that slowly set her fingers to tingling. She 


A GARDEN IN THE MOONLIGHT 183 


must touch, feel, the beauty that lay about her. Only 
in this way could she make it her own. Only in this 
way could she carry it away with her back to Aunt 
Clem’s when this venture into fairyland was ended. 
This soft silkiness just under her hands must be 
Oriental poppies. 

Forgetting the filmy edge of her ostrich-trimmed 
frock, she knelt beside a pool and leaned perilously 
over to touch a huge white lily, its petals cup-shaped 
above the dull dark island of its floating leaves. 

A whiff of another tantalizing odor sent her ex¬ 
ploring toward the farther end of the garden. She 
could see a faint glowing mass beside one of the 
slender poplars that guarded the green gate. What 
could it be? She had never smelled anything just 
like it. 

She started toward it, then paused. Some one was 
coming through the little green gate between the 
poplars. 


CHAPTER XV 


JULIAN STRASSMAN 

Celia stood, a little shyly, a little resentfully, 
staring at the tall youth in white flannels who had 
intruded into her paradise. 

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “I hope I haven’t strayed 
into the wrong garden! This is Inglenook, isn’t it— 
the Vandevers’ place?” 

“Yes,” she said, and made a guess that this late, 
rather unceremonious visitor was none other than 
Sally’s Julian Strassman. 

He confirmed her suspicions at once by saying, 
“I’m Julian Strassman. I’m a bit late, I’m afraid. 
I hope I didn’t startle you, coming in on you like 
this.” 

“No, oh, no!” she said hastily. “I—I—was 

just-” 

“I thought I knew the way,” he explained fur¬ 
ther. “Got a flat tire several miles back. Decided 
to walk. Thought I was headed for the front en¬ 
trance, but I seem to have made a mistake.” He 
talked in quick, breathless fashion as though eager 

184 






JULIAN STRASSMAN 


185 


to dispose of explanations. Then he drew in a long 
breath and said, “I thought at first you were Sally.” 
When she made no response, he said, “You’re one of 
her friends-” 

“I’m Celia Carson,” she said. “She invited me 
here to-” 

She had a sudden longing to tell the truth, to say, 
“She invited me here to see her father’s collection of 
ceramics and his books on the subject, because I work 
in his pottery and she knows I’m especially interested 
in them. I’m not really a friend like those others 
dancing inside.” 

But she didn’t. There was no sense in dragging in 
the truth. It would not interest him in the least. Be¬ 
sides, she was suddenly concerned at the change that 
had come over him. He was staring at her in the 
strangest way and saying, “Ce-lia Car-son? Ce-lia 
Car-son?” 

“Why—why-” she stammered, wondering at 

the expression on his slender handsome face. “I’m 
just Celia Carson—from down at Newtonville.” 

“Newtonville?” sharply. 

“Yes. It’s just a little place.” 

“And you have an aunt, a Mrs. Clementine 
Carson?” 

It was her turn now to be amazed. How could 
Julian Strassman know anything about Aunt Clem 
—or herself, for that matter? 







186 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


He had come closer now and was peering eagerly 
into her puzzled eyes, lifted to his. 

“Did—did you ever have a brother named Ted?” 

She nodded wonderingly. What could this youth, 
this European musician, know of Ted, her brother? 
And then she remembered that, when Ted had called 
over long distance, he had called from Clayton 
Springs, and that Sally’s mother had spoken of see¬ 
ing Julian Strassman at the Springs that day. Per¬ 
haps Julian and Ted had met there. 

She reached out an impulsive hand and laid it on 
his dark sleeve. 

“You’ve—met—my brother? You know Ted?” 
her voice eager, yet wistful with tenderness. 

“Do I know him?” He stared for a moment, then 
said more dramatically than grammatically, “I’m 

himr 

“Him?” 

“Yes, him, or rather, he, I should say.” 

“You mean—you’re Ted —Ted Carson—my 
brother?” her voice rising in excitement. 

“Yes!” he exclaimed, laughing at her amazement. 
“Isn’t it great—that we’ve found each other? I had 
a hunch I’d better run down here again!” 

The eager dark eyes were close to her own now, 
as well as the firm mouth with its gleaming white 
teeth. She drew back instinctively, but her hands 
were grasped and held tightly in his. 








“You've met my brother?”— Page 186 













/ 








JULIAN STRASSMAN 


189 


“But you said a moment ago—that you were Ju¬ 
lian Strassman!” 

“But I am, Celia! I’m both! I’m your brother, 
Ted Carson, and I’m Julian Strassman, too. The 
Strassmans, you know, adopted me. I’m theirs, 
but nevertheless I’m your brother!” 

Celia was too dazed for a moment to do anything 
but stare, and his sudden impetuous embrace added 
nothing to her peace of mind. 

Ted Carson, her brother, and Julian Strassman, 
the same! Julian Strassman, whom Sally Vandever 
had wanted for her especial friend—Julian Strass¬ 
man the noted pianist—her brother, Ted! 

It was incredible, but it was evidently true, for he 
was holding her off now, staring at her approvingly. 

“It’s great, Celia, to find you here, a friend of 
Sally Vandever’s; to know you’re such a beauty, and 
that this old aunt of ours has been so good to you! 
When I talked to her over the ’phone the other day, I 
got the impression she was something of a Tartar. 
At least, she’s plenty generous, isn’t she ?” with an ap¬ 
proving nod at Celia’s frock. “I’ve been afraid at 
times that maybe things weren’t so easy for you, 
Celia. I guess we can’t really blame her for be¬ 
ing so determined to stick to her word. I did my 
best to get her to tell me the name of the friend you 
were to visit, but she wouldn’t. To think it was 
Sally Vandever, of all people!” 




190 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


He leaned over her again and touched the soft 
brown locks that curled about her forehead. 

“How’s your head? Will that blow leave a scar? 
I read in the paper about your rescuing the Duval 
girl. It’s what put me on your trail, though of 
course I couldn’t be sure it was you until I ’phoned 
this aunt of ours. I certainly owe a lot of thanks to 
whoever wrote that article. It gave me just the in¬ 
formation I needed.” 

He laughed now, delightedly. “Won’t our con¬ 
scientious Aunt Clementine be disturbed when she 
learns I managed to find you in spite of her?” Then 
his voice took on a note of anxiety as he nodded to a 
rustic settee beside the lily pool and said, “Let’s sit 
down here. There’s a lot of explaining to do.” 
Then he drew out a handkerchief and mopped 
his brow. 

Celia, seated beside him, occupied herself for a 
moment in adjusting the ostrich-tipped flounces of 
her skirt, conscious, through it all, of his sudden 
embarrassment. 

One white-trousered leg rested across the knee of 
the other for a moment; then both were stretched 
full length before him. Then, as she watched him, 
he arose hurriedly and stood before her, his hands 
plunged deep into the pockets of his dark coat. 

She fixed her eyes on the silver buckle of his white 
belt. It was safer than his eyes. 


JULIAN STRASSMAN 191 

“I’m just wondering, Celia, if you’ll understand. 
You haven’t forgotten—when we were children to¬ 
gether—how fond I was of you?” 

She lifted her eyes then to the serious face of the 
tall youth who looked down upon her so anxiously. 

“No, Ted,” she said softly. 

“Better call me ‘Julian’.” 

“No, Julian.” 

“You must have thought that I cared very little, 
to go off with the Strassmans.” 

“We were both too young, Julian, to know- I 

guess I didn’t think about it at all—at least, not 
that way. I knew you’d never really forget me.” 

“I should say not. But it’s been a long time— 
and—and I’m just a little afraid—it’s too late 


“Too late?” What did he mean? Too late for 
what? 

“It’s like this, Celia. You know how, even as a 
little chap, I was always whistling and singing? I 
loved music. I guess that was one reason I was so 
content to go to the Strassmans. They offered me 
a saxophone, Celia. It was great. But they 
wouldn’t let me learn to play it until years later. 
They had set their heart on my being a pianist— 
taking the place of their son, who had died, and 
whom they had destined for a musical career. They 
looked upon me as a gift from God, for I was so 









192 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


/ 

like him that I was able literally to take his place. 
It was here in America that he died. They were 
Europeans, you know, visiting here. When they re¬ 
turned to Europe, I went with them as their son . 
No one ever knew the difference.” 

She nodded dully. She was beginning to under¬ 
stand, and with the knowledge her heart grew 
heavier and heavier. 

“They’ve built up such a background for me, Celia, 
they and my press-agents, that—that it would ruin 
everything if it were to become known that I am an 
American by birth and only their adopted son. The 
Strassmans, you know, have been musicians as far 
back as they can remember, though not really fa¬ 
mous. Father was showing wonderful talent as a 
boy when he had an accident to his hand. He lost 
his thumb entirely. It nearly killed him, for it was 
the end of his career. You can understand now, 
perhaps, how dreadful it would be for anything— 
to- All their hopes are centered on me.” 

“I think—I understand, Julian,” she said reso¬ 
lutely, facing him with a brave smile. “You’ve got 
to go on being their son, being a famous musician. 
It would spoil everything—if any one guessed— 
about me.” 

“I’m afraid—that’s the truth of the matter, Celia. 
I just can’t let any one know that you’re my sister 
or that I have a sister. The public would feel that 








JULIAN STRASSMAN 


193 


we’ve been cheating them all these years. It would 
resent it. And if these people in New York who 
brought me over from Europe learned that I am an 
American instead of an Austrian, it would be just 
too bad for me and my career, as you in America 
love to say.” 

She nodded, her throat too full for speech. She 
knew now why Aunt Clem had not wanted to tell 
her. Aunt Clem knew that Ted could never enter 
her life in any way. She was only trying to save 
her the heartache that unfulfilled hopes would bring. 

She smiled up at him through tear-filled eyes. 
“It’s something, Ted—Julian—to know about you, 
to know that you’ve thought of me, that you wanted 
to see me.” 

“Yes, of course, Celia. I’ve wanted for years to 
square myself with you. I was afraid maybe you 
didn’t have—that Aunt Clem might not have enough 

money to- But I might have saved myself all 

that worry, mightn’t I?” his eyes traveling again 
over the ostrich-trimmed frock. “If I thought for 
one moment, Celia, that you needed me-” 

“No, no, Julian. You can’t leave them. Aunt 

Clem and I, we have- It’s enough to know 

you’re happy—with them. And famous. It makes 
me feel so proud. You are happy, aren’t you, Ju¬ 
lian?” she insisted, as she remembered suddenly that 
confidential talk with Sally about him. 








194 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Happy? Oh, I suppose so. Only they sort of 
smother me at times. I get rather fed up, to use 
some more American slang. It’s the constant ad¬ 
ulation of the public that I find hard. I can’t seem 
to get used to it. It takes away all my pleasure in 
the music. It just freezes something in me, Celia. 
It’s all I can do sometimes to keep from being 
positively rude. If they’d just listen and let me 
alone- But the gushing, the flattery, the drib¬ 
ble -” 

“I guess it’s just part of the price one must pay, 
Julian,” she said thoughtfully. “You could hardly 
be a success, could you, without the public’s ap¬ 
proval?” 

“Hardly. I guess I’ll stick it out, anyway, as 
long as Father and Mother live. It would kill them 
if I quit.” 

So there was really nothing to hope for! He 
meant to go on, even after he had reached man’s 
estate. Those two years she had been counting on, 
looking forward to their passing— She would have 
to go on alone now. Ted’s life could never touch 
hers again, not even in two years. He was, by his 
own statement, definitely separated from her for 
all time. 

Still, she would have the memory of him to solace 
her when she was back at the pottery again. She 
would remember her meeting with him here in the 




JULIAN STRASSMAN 


195 


Vandevers’ lovely garden. And it would be won¬ 
derful to think of him as flooding the auditoriums of 
America and Europe with his music, adored by the 
parents who had helped to make him what he was. 
She knew she ought to be glad—glad that his life 
would not be along the narrow, constricted lines of 
her own, and yet she could not help but feel dread¬ 
fully depressed at the knowledge that her dreams of 
him could never be realized. 

He sat for a time, his elbows on his knees, his head 
in his hands, apparently lost in thought; then he 
turned with an apologetic little laugh. 

“What a conceited being you must think me, 
Celia! I’ve done nothing but talk about myself. 
Tell me about yourself. What have you been doing 
all these years?” 

“There’s little to tell, Julian.” 

She thought of the book in which she had been 
writing to him the intimate details of her daily life, 
and wondered what he would say if he knew. But 
he never would. She intended to make no plea for 
his affections. His duty was to his foster-parents, 
for he loved them devotedly. He had said so. 

“Just school, you know; friends, books, a little fun, 
clothes, and such things as interest most girls.” 

The wide, white petals of a night-blooming Cereus 
which hung over an arbor near by were ghostly little 
faces mocking her for her deliberate deceit. 


196 


CELIAS CHOICE 


But she defended herself fiercely. “You can’t 
tell him you work in a pottery. You can’t shame 
him like that, even though you don’t mind for your¬ 
self. He wouldn’t understand, any more than the 

Duvals and the people in Newtonville understand.” 

\ 

“And you’ve been happy, Celia?” a wistful note 
in his voice. 

“Yes,” she exclaimed quickly, eager to reassure 
him as well as herself. “Yes, I’ve been happy.” 

She had been happy, even though she had missed 
him and longed for him, though she wondered dully 
if it would be possible for her ever to be happy again. 
Happiness seemed such a childish thing now, some¬ 
thing one shed on growing up, like one’s dolls. 

She saw him glance for a moment at the glowing 
dial of his wrist-watch. 

“Whew!” he exclaimed in dismay. “I’d no idea 
it was so late. Sally will think-” 

The speech was not finished, for Sally was coming 
toward them—a Sally that Celia had never met 
before. 



CHAPTER XVI 


A RESOLUTION 

Sally’s face looked white in the moonlight, as 
white as the round blossoms of the flower on the 
arbor behind her, though not as placid. A stiff little 
smile was on her lips, but there was no hint of a 
smile in the chill blue eyes. 

“I didn’t know that you knew Julian,” she said 
to Celia. Then, before Celia could respond, she said 
hurriedly, “Of course one naturally expects the 
temperamental thing from artists, but—isn’t this 
rather-” 

Julian broke in quickly: “Yes, of course it is, Sally. 
I—I do owe you an apology, and your mother, too 
but-” 

“Then I’d advise you to see her rather soon. 
It’s nearly midnight, you know, and Mother-” 

Again she left her sentence unfinished, caught 
Celia’s hand, and drew it into the crook of her arm. 
“I’ve been hunting everywhere for you,” and with¬ 
out another glance at Julian she turned toward 
the house. 


197 







198 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“But, Sally! Let me explain, please!” 

“Save it for Mother,” tersely. 

“N"ow, see here, Sally!” began Julian, striding up. 
“You’re not being fair! Why do you suppose I 
came down here again, anyway, after the way you 
ran off before?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know!” letting him have a 
glimpse of a severe little profile, “unless it’s to loaf 
a few days before another recital or—or—to enjoy 
yourself with girls you’ve never met before in other 
people’s gardens! I can see how that might appeal 
—to one of your temperament!” 

“Thanks!” curtly. 

During the brief pause that followed, Celia tried 
to withdraw her hand from Sally’s arm, but Sally 
held it fast. She had not dreamed Sally could be so 
unfair to any one, and, though Celia knew that she 
herself was partly to blame, she could think of no 
excuses to offer. 

Julian had no intention of swallowing Sally’s 
scolding without protest. He grasped her arm and 
swung her about. 

“Is this any way to treat me when I’ve made two 
trips down here just to see you? I do owe you an 
apology for arriving so late and then lingering 
here, but I had a flat tire and—Celia and I got 
talking-” 

“Celia? You seem to be on rather familiar terms.” 







A RESOLUTION 199 

“Miss Carson, I mean,” he corrected himself. 
“We—I—it was my fault entirely.” 

“I feel fairly sure it was,” Sally observed coolly. 
“I seem to remember some specific instances of your 
remarkable conversational powers, myself.” 

“Don’t talk like a Bryn Mawr graduate to me, 
Sally. It’s not your style, and it doesn’t become 
you.” 

“I’m not fishing for compliments, Julian Strass- 
man, nor am I requesting any constructive criticisms. 
But I do advise you to make your peace with Mother. 
She’s rather perturbed, I’m afraid, thinking you may 
have had an accident.” 

“I will at once, Sally, and do try to feel a little 
more generous toward me, won’t you, please?” in 
a voice that Celia thought irresistibly appealing. 
“Well, I’ll be seeing you later, anyway,” as Sally 
made no response. 

The two girls stood silently as he rounded the 
flower beds and swung lightly up the stone steps to 
the path around the pool. His white trousers below 
the dark coat flashed intermittingly through the 
vines of the colonnade; then the house received him. 

Sally turned to Celia with a motherly gesture. 

“I know you think me terribly rude, Celia, to talk 

so, but—I just can’t bear—the way he- He’s 

so insufferably-” 

She did not finish her sentence, and Celia, con- 




200 


CELIAS CHOICE 


siderably troubled moved along beside her in silence. 
Finally she said softly, “He was telling me-” 

“You needn’t feel that you must tell me anything 
he said, Celia,” Sally exclaimed somewhat sharply. 
“My experience with him those days at Nice and 
his going away without a word, and then freezing me 

stiff in New York- I don’t even want to think 

of him! But since mother asked him here again, I’ve 
got to be fairly decent to him, I suppose. Some¬ 
times I think, Celia, that there’s just no one in the 
whole world you can really depend upon!” 

“But really, Sally, he could hardly help being 
late.” Celia continued to defend him before she 
realized that silence would have been the best course 
to pursue with Sally just then. 

“Now, don’t take up for him, Celia!” with some 
heat. “You don’t know him as I do!” 

“No, of course not.” But Celia was thinking just 
then of the little brother who had poured sand down 
her back. 

For a moment the colonnade with its lighted lan¬ 
terns and the glowing house beyond was a dim blur 
in the moonlight, and her throat hurt. Sally wasn’t 
fair. Sally had no right to treat him so. She couldn’t 
know how Julian hated the public’s adoration—that 
it really was not his fault he had been stiff to her in 
New York. Celia felt she could bear to hear no 
more against him just then. 





A RESOLUTION 


201 


But Sally’s hard little voice kept on: “I think 
I ought to warn you, Celia. It’s not because I think 
you can’t take care of yourself, but because you can’t 
possibly understand a person like Julian Strassman. 
You’ve no idea the sort of people he’s mixed with all 
his life. You’ve no idea how a self-centered person 
like him enjoys hurting people. You’ve never met 
any one like him before.” 

“Oh, but, Sally, I’m sure he can explain all that 
if you’ll let him. He was telling me about-” 

“I don’t want to know anything he was telling 
you, Celia,” in a tone that told quite plainly how 
very much she did want to know. “He can make his 
own explanations if he has any to make! Come!” 
she exclaimed, hastening her steps, “the crowd’s 
leaving.” 

“I—wonder if you won’t excuse me, Sally? Your 
friends won’t miss my good-night, I’m sure. My 
head feels just a little queer.” 

“Why, of course! Run along if you wish. You’ve 
had a rather hard day. I’m afraid we haven’t been 
very considerate. I’ll apologize for you.” 

At a side door where a flight of stairs led to the 
second floor they said good-night, and Celia turned 
to ascend, then paused and said hesitantly, “Sally, 
I wonder—I mean—will you please not tell Julian 
Strassman that I—that I work in the pottery at 
Newtonville?” 






202 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Sally did not respond at once, and Celia looked 
at her sharply, but the shadow of the vine-covered 
arch over the doorway hid Sally’s face completely. 

“Of course I sha’n’t, Celia,” she said finally, in a 
voice that made Celia wonder if she had not made 
a big mistake in asking for Sally’s silence. She felt 
sure that Sally would never hint at it to any one, and 
yet she felt as though she must do all in her power 
to keep Julian from knowing. He had seemed so 
pleased and relieved that she was being so well cared 
for. There was no use in making him feel unhappy 
by letting him know the truth. It was better to let 
him think that she lived the same gay, care-free life 
of Sally Vandever and her friends, for he could do 
nothing about it, anyway, without causing unhappi¬ 
ness to his foster-parents, and he had made it quite 
clear to her that he loved them too much to do that. 
Besides, wouldn’t he feel terribly ashamed and hu¬ 
miliated if he knew that Sally had invited her here 
only because of her interest in Mr. Vandever’s col¬ 
lection of ceramics, and had supplied the proper ap¬ 
parel for her stay, as much to save her own pride as 
to please Celia and make her feel at ease with the 
people she would encounter here? She knew for a 
certainty how impossible she would have appeared 
among Sally’s friends in the modest garments she 
had brought with her. 

Though she had complained of being tired and 


A RESOLUTION 


203 


went straight to her room, she did not sleep. She sat 
in the dark for a long time beside the open window, 
drinking in the beauty of the moon-flooded land¬ 
scape, thinking of her brother and what he had said 
to her, of Sally and her resentment at the way he 
had treated her. 

It made her vaguely unhappy that Sally should 
feel as she did toward him. But by and by she heard 
the low murmur of voices from below and, leaning 
out, recognized the figure of Sally perched on the 
stone parapet along the tiled terrace beside an¬ 
other who could have been no one but Ted. She 
sighed relievedly and gave herself up once more to 
enjoying the beauty of the night. 

After a time the voices ceased, but she continued 
to sit there, thinking of the strangeness of her being 
where she was, listening to the noises of the night 
that drifted up to her—low-toned good-nights; the 
clang of the grilled doors being closed for the night; 
Sally’s voice gurgling with laughter in the hall be¬ 
low; her mother’s raised slightly in remonstrance; 
light steps on the stairs and, a little later, heavier 
ones; the tinkle of glasses when a door to the rear 
was opened somewhere; the rush of water as a tap 
was opened; a shade lowered; a window raised; and 
finally silence, except for the sleepy chirp of a cricket 
under her window. 

She had a feeling that she was living in a dream 



204 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


and that presently she would awaken and find herself 
back in her room under the eaves of Aunt Clem’s 
little house. 

That she should find Ted only to lose him again 
was something on which she had never counted. 
That Ted should be Julian Strassman, a pianist of 
note, seemed a little too fantastic, even for one who 
loved to dream as she did. Like disconnected flashes 
of some movie story, her thoughts came and went. 
She couldn’t seem to find any consistent link in the 
events that had taken place. Sally Vandever of In- 
glenook, and Julian Strassman of European fame, 
and she who worked with old Jared Stornoff in the 
grime and dust of the old pottery at Newtonville! 
What right had she to be here, sharing these two? 
There could never be any link between them and 
herself when this visit was over. It was as Angela 
had said. Sally’s invitation had been a mere whim 
on Sally’s part. When it was over, Sally would no 
doubt forget her entirely, but she felt no bitterness 
now in the knowledge. 

She climbed into bed at last, to sleep only fitfully. 
She knew that, since it was impossible to tell Sally 
that Julian was her brother, she must make her visit 
as short as possible to save any possible complica¬ 
tions that might arise. She suspected rightly that, 
though she might succeed in treating him as one 
would a casual acquaintance, it would not be possible 


A RESOLUTION 


205 


to keep her eyes from betraying her unusual interest 
in him. And so she must make every moment count. 
It seemed a shame to waste any of them in sleep. 

She felt more sure of his ability to keep secret 
their relationship than her own, for she knew that his 
career and his devotion to his foster-parents over¬ 
balanced his interest in her. He had made it very 
plain. And, though it did hurt in a way, she was glad 
and proud that it was so. It proved that he was 
worthy of the love and attention they bestowed 
on him. 

With set teeth, she resolved that nothing would 
ever cause her to betray the fact of their relationship 
to any one. It simply would not do for the public to 
know the truth, that he was not what he claimed to 
be—the last of a long line of talented Austrians—but 
merely a boy of obscure American parentage, whose 
sister worked for her living in a grimy pottery. 

She saw clearly now that Aunt Clem was right in 
the attitude she had taken in the matter, and that 
nothing could be done about it. The two Carsons 
were quite evidently fated to follow divergent paths. 



CHAPTER XVII 


A RUDE AWAKENING 

W hen Celia did finally sleep, it was to indulge in 
restless, unhappy dreams, and she was glad when 
Sally, clad in bizarre pajamas, awakened her by 
calling from the door: 

“Are you going to sleep all day, Celia? There’s 
a tennis tournament at the club this morning. We’re 
planning to lunch there and then golf a bit.” 

Celia stretched languorously, then arose to a sit¬ 
ting position and asked in a somewhat tired voice, 
“Couldn’t I stay here, Sally? I—I’d like to look 
over those books, you know.” 

“You mean you’d rather stay here alone all day 
and read than to go with Julian and me and Mother 
to the club?” 

Her voice held a disappointed note, but the sudden 
gleam in her blue eyes told Celia the real state of 
her feelings. She wouldn’t mind in the least having 
Julian to herself. 

“I believe I would, Sally, if you don’t object. You 
know it’s why I wanted to come so badly. Besides, 

206 


A RUDE AWAKENING 207 

I don’t golf, you know. I’m sure you understand,” 
wistfully. 

“Of course I do, Celia, and since you’re so eager 
about those books, I’ll tell you just where to find 
them. They’re in that arched bookcase on the left 
of the library mantel. You can sit there and read 
and read, or you can bring them up here if you’d 
rather. Here’s your breakfast,” stepping aside to 
make room for the maid with a tray, “and if you 
don’t mind, I’ll just run along and dress. Julian 
and Mother have been up for some time. You’ll find 
luncheon in the breakfast-room about one. Now, are • 
you sure you don’t mind our deserting you like this?” 

“I’ll love it, Sally,” Celia returned, with a bright 
smile at the fair-haired girl obviously so eager to 
be gone. 

She was wholly sincere. A day to herself in this 
lovely house, to wander about and exult in the beau¬ 
tiful things that filled it, to choose at will of the books 
that filled the tall bookcase, and to read from them 
leisurely with no thought of being interrupted, 
would be heavenly. 

“Then everybody’s happy!” Sally exclaimed, and 
Celia felt sure that she and Julian must have ad¬ 
justed the difficulty that had come between them, for 
Sally’s eyes were as serene and unclouded as the 
blue sky that showed between the ruffled curtains of 
the window. 


208 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“But don’t read too much, Celia. I want you to 
be fresh for the dance to-night. It’s the club’s an¬ 
nual frolic for the members and their guests,” she 
cautioned as she closed the door behind her. 

As Celia lingered over the tempting dishes on 
the tray before her, she saw the car containing Sally, 
Julian, and Mrs. Vandever curving through the 
driveway of the park and then swinging into the 
road that led to the country club. She followed 
them with her eyes wistfully for a moment, then 
resolutely gave her attention to finishing her break¬ 
fast. She must make the most of this opportunity, 
for she might never have such another. 

But she felt just a little lonely as she went hesi¬ 
tantly down the tall flight of stairs, through the hall, 
and into the big library filled from floor to ceiling 
with books. 

Then Sally, Julian, everything, went out of her 
mind, and she was lost in the fascinating realm of 
ceramics—that land of enchantment, of lustrous 
surfaces, exquisitely blended colorings, and intricate 
designs; a land in which fantastically garbed birds 
and clawing dragons spouting fire vied with delicate 
landscapes in which ladies and gentlemen in the 
dress of the Old World promenaded or curtsied 
to each other in formal gardens; or where lovely 
shepherds and shepherdesses kept serene watch over 
their flocks, or frail-looking Japanese ladies ges- 



A RUDE AWAKENING 209 

tured with opened fans in doll-like gardens; a land 
of endless and fascinating varieties of beauty. 

She read avidly for a time of those voyagers of the 
sixteenth century who had brought from the Orient 
the first of those delicate porcelains that were to start 
the mania that engulfed Europe and later spread to 
America, resulting in one of the most profitable in¬ 
dustries of the times, for the Dutch then began to 
make excellent imitations of the Oriental wares, and 
were soon followed by England and France and 
other near-by countries. 

In amazement, she read of the craze which pos¬ 
sessed people to buy in such unheard-of quantities 
that their drawing-rooms soon came to overflow with 
porcelains; of the London china shops where the 
Beau Brummels of the day, statesmen, artists, and 
all the fashionable world that could afford to make a 
cult of the beautiful, met to exclaim and rhapsodize 
over platters and tea sets. 

Having only had experience in the making of 
earthenware, it was with growing interest that she 
read of true and artificial porcelain, of the various 
kinds of hard and soft paste, of the methods of dif¬ 
ferent potters in their applications of the various 
glazes and decorations, and of the different shades 
of coloring for which one or another was distin¬ 
guished. She read of the artists who decorated the 
porcelains, and who frequently went from one pot- 


210 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


tery to another, making it difficult for those un¬ 
skilled in the matter of distinguishing one paste from 
another to know to which potter to attribute certain 
pieces. 

She read more slowly after a time, and sometimes 
she would close her book to stare off into space, only 
to resume again, more intent than ever. 

Once she went to the bookcase and took down 
several volumes. They were all somewhat similar 
in appearance, large, beautifully bound, printed on 
heavy glazed paper, many of the illustrations done 
in just the same beautiful colors as the pieces they 
depicted. After considerable searching, she found 
a price mark in one of them. She gasped when she 
read, “Eight-fifty.” Eight dollars and fifty cents 
for one book! How could she ever hope to own any, 
then? She would certainly have to make the most 
of this visit! 

Again she stirred restlessly, got up and moved 
about the room, found a pad of paper and a pencil, 
and was back again in her chair, now reading a 
while, now taking notes. 

She could not possibly remember all the fascinat¬ 
ing details of this interesting subject. 

So diligently did she apply herself to her note¬ 
taking that the maid who came to call her to lunch 
had to call twice, and then inquired a bit testily if 
she had not heard the luncheon-bell. 


A RUDE AWAKENING 


211 


No, Celia hadn’t. She hadn’t heard anything. 
She would hardly have heard a tornado if it had 
passed over her, for she had skipped over and found 
a chapter on figurines. 

She would have refused luncheon entirely if she 
hadn’t felt that the maid might be just a little more 
provoked with her than she was already. 

As it was, she ate what was put before her, but 
absently, for her mind was intent on the fascinating 
subject awaiting her in the library, and every once 
in a while she would forget to eat, and sit staring 
before her. She was thinking of Jared, wondering 
what he would think if he could but see and know 
of those famous porcelains, and their makers. 
Wouldn’t he be inspired to attempt something sim¬ 
ilar? True, Jared’s work was perfect as to form 
and perfection of glaze, but there was little delicacy 
of treatment in shapes or colors. Why, she won¬ 
dered, couldn’t they go in for designs, for more deli¬ 
cate shapes? Why couldn’t they perfect a paste 
that would equal those old porcelains? Why 
couldn’t they make some of those adorable little 
figurines—those gallant cavaliers, those lovely 
ladies in low-cut, bouffant frocks, shepherds, and 
sailor-boys. If only she could make Jared vision 
the exquisite delicacy of the tinting! Might he not 
be able to persuade Mr. Creel to attempt their manu¬ 
facture? 


212 


CELIA’S CHOICE 

She sat up abruptly, for she remembered that 
Mr. Vandever now owned the pottery. It would 
be Mr. Vandever who would have to be consulted. 
And Mr. Vandever would no doubt be here in a 
day or so! If only she had the courage! Then her 
heart sank, for she remembered that she wasn’t sup¬ 
posed to know that Mr. Vandever was the new 
owner of the pottery! Sally had confided the mat¬ 
ter to her as a secret. But if she won old Jared, if 
she could get him interested and he would persuade 
Mr. Creel to put the matter to Mr. Vandever, it 
would mean that others, those artists and sculptors 
who fashioned these delicate things, would be added 
to the personnel of the pottery, and if they were, 
it was the chance she wanted—to learn of them! 

Her heart was racing as she pushed away her 
plate and arose. There was no time to be lost. She 
must find out all she could. She must have convinc¬ 
ing proof for Jared before she could hope for 
success. 

All afternoon she wrote steadily, until her arm 
and back ached and her fingers grew so cramped 
that she could hardly hold the pencil. But she did 
not mind. It might be the only chance she would 
ever have. And it could do no harm. Even though 
Jared refused to be interested, and even though Mr. 
Vandever refused to be attracted to the suggestion, 
she would have the satisfaction of knowing she had 



A RUDE AWAKENING 


213 


tried, had done all in her power to bring to herself the 
knowledge and skill she coveted so fiercely. 

She not only wrote, but she sketched some of the 
little figures—a Dresden, Bacchus; a Bow, Tam¬ 
bourine Player; a Chelsea, Shakespeare. 

Then suddenly she remembered the lump of clay 
in the tin box she had put in her suitcase when she 
packed. Just why she had put it in, she didn’t 
know, except that the feel of the clay between her 
fingers had become such a habit that it seemed a 
little strange to leave it behind. 

She snatched up the book, gathered together her 
scattered notes, and hurried to her room, where from 
the closet she took the suitcase that held the box of 
clay. 

She cleared the low glass shelf in the bathroom 
of its collection of hath salts and lotion bottles; then, 
in a little frenzy of delight, she moistened the clay, 
worked it into a smooth plastic mass, and slapped 
it upon the shelf. Carefully propping open her 
book on the window-ledge, she went to work eagerly, 
her eyes somber with purpose, her lips curled into 
the little satisfied smile that had become a habit 
whenever she handled the clay. But the smile grew 
fainter and fainter, for thoughts of her brother be¬ 
gan intruding and distracting her. His dark, 
slender face came between her and the little figure 
depicted in the open book. Several times she sighed 


214 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


and paused to stare discontentedly at what she had 
done, but even then her thoughts failed to focus on 
the little clay figure before her. 

She kept thinking of Ted, wondering if he looked 
the same by daylight as he had by moonlight; she 
was just a little sorry she had not gone with them. 
It would have been so nice to sit beside him in the 
Vandevers’ big limousine, so nice to listen to the 
sound of his voice, to meet his eyes, and to know he 
belonged to her, even though no one else could ever 
know. She thought wistfully of the brown and 
orange sport suit hanging in her closet. She would 
have looked so nice in it. He might even have found 
a chance to tell her so. It would be so nice to have 
his approval again. 

She sat dreamily thinking of him, trying to re¬ 
member his face as it appeared in the moonlight. 
Then, without realizing what she did, her fingers 
were busy again with the clay, digging, smoothing, 
and prodding the pudgy mass before her into the 
form of a man’s head. 

“I believe I can make it look like Ted!” she gasped 
happily, after some time of concentrated work; then 
she went at it again determinedly. It would be 
something to take home with her—a tangible proof 
of Ted. 

She worked on and on, wholly absorbed, uncon¬ 
scious of the fleeting hours until a steady knocking 



A RUDE AWAKENING 


215 


at the door brought her back to the present. She 
arose hastily, a little dismayed at the thought of 
any one’s finding her thus. She plunged her hands 
quickly into a soapy bath and hurried to the door, 
but before she could reach it, Angela Duval put her 
head in and called, 

“Celia? Mind if I come in? The maid told me 
you were here.” 

With a queer tightening of her lips and a sink¬ 
ing sensation about her heart, Celia closed the door 
to the bathroom quickly. 

So much had happened to fill her mind since her 
arrival that she had forgotten Angela entirely. The 
sight of her was like a dash of cold water. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ANGELA SHOWS HER HAND 

“I got here a little sooner than I expected,” An¬ 
gela announced, seating herself in a large chintz- 
covered chair near the window and complacently 
retying the blue and white silk scarf knotted on one 
shoulder. “Dad drove me up. The maid said they’d 
be here any moment, so I thought, while she was 
unpacking my things, I’d run in and see you.” 

The brown eyes traveled thoughtfully over the 
tan knitted frock trimmed in green that Celia wore. 

“That’s rather a good-looking outfit,” she ob¬ 
served after a moment. “You surely didn’t get it 
in Newtonville!” 

Celia shook her head and, picking up her nail-file 
from the dressing-table, proceeded to undo the rav¬ 
ages the clay had made on her pink nails. But she 
raised startled eyes when Angela arose swiftly and 
moved toward the partly open closet door. 

“Celia Carson! Where did you get all these 
lovely frocks?” 

Celia’s hands trembled, but she met Angela’s eyes 

216 


ANGELA SHOWS HER HAND 217 

bravely. “They’re things—that Sally bought for me 

—to wear—while I’m here. She-” 

It was impossible to go on while Angela regarded 
her with that queer light in her eyes. 

“I might have known!” Angela remarked, draw¬ 
ing out a shell-pink morning dress of simple but 
distinctive lines and regarding it appraisingly. 
Then, with a shrug, “Well, it’s her own affair. But 
what does she expect to get in return?” 

“Maybe—she doesn’t expect anything, Angela,” 
Celia returned, softly. “She said—she’d always 

wanted to—play fairy godmother-” 

“Perhaps so,” wonderingly, as though such an 
idea would never have occurred to her. “But she 

must have some reason-” 

“She—wanted me to—feel at home here,” Celia 
explained further. “She knew that I—didn’t have 

—the right things-” 

“But why did she invite you here in the first place 
when she knew that you didn’t? Neither Mother 
nor I could understand it,” a little petulantly. 

For a moment Celia was tempted to explain about 
Mr. Vandever’s books and his collection of ceramics, 
but she had more than once been hushed abruptly 
when she tried to tell Angela anything about the 
pottery and things connected with it. 

“Perhaps she—just liked me, Angela, and 
thought I’d enjoy-” 














218 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Well, you always did have a knack of making 
people like you, Celia,” Angela conceded with a re¬ 
luctant half-smile, “but I can’t for the life of me see 
what good it’s going to do you to be here. You can’t 
keep up with people like the Vandevers and their 
friends, and when they find out Sally’s been intro¬ 
ducing a girl whose people haven’t a cent and who 
works in a pottery-” 

A little shiver suddenly rippled down Celia’s 
spine. She laid down her nail-file on the dressing- 
table and seated herself on the chaise longue, look¬ 
ing up pleadingly into Angela’s now resentful eyes. 

“Please, Angela,” she begged softly, “don’t tell 
any one that, will you? It’s not as if I mean to keep 
up the pretense. I don’t expect to ever see any of 
these people again, and I’m sure they won’t remem¬ 
ber me. I—I’m not ashamed of working in the 
pottery, or I’d never have chosen to go there. But 
there’s a reason why I don’t want any one to know. 
I just can’t explain.” 

But Angela was apparently little concerned about 
what Celia was saying. She was staring with new 
interest through the open window, the pink frock 
abandoned on a near-by chair. 

“Here’s Sally now!” she exclaimed. “And her 
mother! And, oh, who is that handsome person with 
them? I do believe it’s that Julian Strassman whose 
photograph she had!” 



ANGELA SHOWS HER HAND 219 

She turned slowly, two wide understanding eyes 
resting full on the embarrassed Celia, while an 
amused smile twitched the corners of her lips. 

“I thought so!” she exclaimed. “I could tell by 
the way you looked at his picture that day down 
home that you were keen to know him! And to 
think that Sally didn’t suspect why you were so 
sweet to her!” 

“Oh, Angela!” Celia exclaimed, torn between hu¬ 
miliation and amusement at the thought of such an 
absurdity. “How could I expect to meet him 
through Sally, when she herself didn’t know he was 
coming here?” 

For a moment she was on the point of telling all 
she knew about the matter; then she reflected that 
Sally might not have confided to Angela what she 
had to her about her feelings regarding Julian 
Strassman. And she knew she had no right to share 
Sally’s confidences, even to protect herself. 

“But how do I know that she didn’t know he was 
coming and didn’t tell you? You two were so very 
intimate,” a jealous spark flashing in her brown 
eyes. 

Without waiting for a response, she turned 
toward the door, but Celia was before her. 

“Please, Angela,” she begged desperately, “let 
me explain! You’ve never cared about anything 
connected with the pottery, and that’s why I hated 


220 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


to talk of it to you. But you know I’ve always loved 
it. Sally told me about her father’s collection of 
porcelains and figurines and about his books on the 
subject. She thought I might like to see them. 
That’s why she asked me here.” She was panting a 
little now, for it was easy to see that Angela cared 
nothing for her explanation and was eager to get 
away. “I—I—stayed here to-day, instead of going 
to the club with them, on purpose to read. I can 

prove-” She caught Angela’s hand to lead her to 

the bathroom; then she remembered. It would 
hardly do to let her see the head on which she had 
been working, though she felt it would be impossible 
for Angela to find any resemblance between it and 
Julian at its present stage of development. Still, 
there was a possibility. 

But Angela drew her hand away swiftly. “You 
would think up something like that. You’ve such 
a smooth tongue, Celia,” with a faint smile. 

“But you know, Angela, that I am interested in 
those things!” 

“And maybe some others, too,” smiling again. 

“But, Angela,” in new desperation, “it can’t mat¬ 
ter to you whether people here—know I work in a 
pottery or not. They’d hardly suspect such a thing. 
Will you please not mention it, Angela? I’ll—I’ll do 
anything in the world I can for you if you’ll please 
not let any one know.” 







ANGELA SHOWS HER HAND 221 

“I can’t think, Celia, there’s anything you could 
possibly do for me, but thanks just the same. I 
really don’t see why you need be so distressed about 
it. It’s no one’s fault but your own that you went 
there to work. Dad offered you-” 

“I know he did, Angela, but—but—” she was 
twisting a bit of handkerchief pathetically. “If 
you’ll just do this one thing-” 

“Why, of course I will, Celia, as long as it means 
so much to you. But you’re not to make any attempt 
to get the interest of this Julian Strassman. He’s 
simply not your kind, Celia, and I won’t stand by 
and watch you make a fool of him, especially when 

Sally- You’ve overstepped yourself far enough 

by coming here, as it is, but that’s Sally’s affair, not 
mine.” 

“Oh, thanks, Angela, thanks! I knew you’d un¬ 
derstand. I’ll prove to you that I’m honest in what 
I’ve told you,” a relieved smile on her lips as Angela 
slipped through the door, her lifted hand raised in 
assent. 

But when the door was closed, the smile vanished 
completely, and she threw herself wretchedly upon 
the bed and gave way to a moment’s despair, com¬ 
pletely unmindful of the fact that the chaise longue 
had been purposely provided for just such emer¬ 
gencies, not the dainty coverlet of the bed, which she 
was crushing hopelessly. 







222 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Oh, why, she thought wretchedly, did she have to 
endure such humiliation from Angela Duval? But 
she knew it was no one’s fault but her own. She 
should never have let herself in for such a situation 
as this! If she had had any sense at all, she would 
have known how impossible it would be to be a guest 
here with her. She had felt so sure of her ability to 
carry off the situation in a nonchalant manner, and 
now here she was, pleading with Angela in des¬ 
perate fear that the truth about her should become 
known. 

“But how could I guess that I would meet Ted 
here and that he would be Sally’s especial friend?” 
she demanded of herself somewhat tearfully. 

She couldn’t, simply couldn’t, have him ashamed 
of her, even though no one else would ever know of 
their relationship. She couldn’t bear to think of his 
possible contempt when he learned that the clothes 
he had admired had been provided by Sally Van- 
dever. He had been so pleased because he believed 
her to be Sally’s friend, so ready to praise her ap¬ 
pearance, and so relieved because he believed Aunt 
Clem had the means to provide everything she 
needed and wanted. She just couldn’t have him 
know the truth! But it was so humiliating to humble 
herself to Angela, to have to plead for her silence as 
though she were ashamed of working in the pot¬ 
tery, when she wasn’t at all. It was only because 


ANGELA SHOWS HER HAND 223 

of the way these others looked down upon such hum¬ 
ble occupations. 

Moreover, how was she to endure knowing he was 
here and yet be unable to talk with him? How con¬ 
duct herself so that no one would suspect for a mo¬ 
ment her unusual interest in him? There was so 
much she longed to know of those years he had spent 
in Europe, his experiences there, the places and 
things he had seen, the people he had met and known, 
his thoughts on various subjects. It seemed to her 
just then that he was the one thing she wanted most, 
had always wanted—his companionship and the sat¬ 
isfaction of sharing his life, his interests. He alone 
could make up for all the loneliness she had suffered 
all her life, the loneliness that had driven her first 
to the Duvals and caused her to lavish on them the 
love that should have been his, and later drove her 
to the pottery to find consolation there for the 
Duvals’ slights. 

She tried to dismiss her unhappy thoughts, but 
they only grew worse as she reflected on the fact that 
the Duvals had not wanted the devotion she had 
so eagerly given them, and that Ted, even now that 
he had come back, seemed utterly content to go his 
way and let her go hers. 

Then her pride came to the rescue. She sat up, 
dabbed at her moist eyes, jumped to her feet, and 
did her best to straighten the crushed coverlet. 



224 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“You’re just a fool, Celia Carson,” she said 
fiercely to herself, “letting yourself care for people 
who don’t care for you. The thing for you to do is to 
get all the information about ceramics you can while 
you’ve got the chance, then get home and make old 
Jared see reason.” 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Sally’s burst¬ 
ing in unannounced, her face radiant with happiness. 

“Oh, Celia! We’ve had the most gorgeous day! 
But I’ve felt so mean, thinking of you all alone here 
with only books for company.” 

“You didn’t need to. They’re wonderful, and 
I’ve enjoyed being alone. Do you know Angela’s 
here?” 

“Yes. I’ve just seen her. I thought we’d get 
back before she arrived, but we got roped into a 
bridge game. Well, I must get along and rest a 
bit before it’s time to dress. Mother always insists 
on it, you know. I just want to suggest, Celia, that 
you wear the egg-shell taffeta with the cerise bow on 
the hip and the cerise slippers for the club party.” 

“I’m—afraid I can’t very well go, Sally,” Celia 
responded. “My head feels a bit queer. I guess 
perhaps I’ve been reading a little more than I 
should.” 

It was the truth. Her head did feel queer, but 
she knew it was not from reading, nor was it from 
the injury to her head. 


ANGELA SHOWS HER HAND 225 

“Oh, Celia!” solicitously, “I should have thought 

of that. And after that blow you had- You’d 

have been much better off out in the sunshine with 
us. Maybe, if you take something and lie down, it 
will get better. I just can’t go away and leave you 
again, and I was counting on showing you off to¬ 
night. You’ll be stunning in that frock—that hem¬ 
line dipping in the back exposing the cerise facing, 
and just that simple bow on the hip. Besides, Julian 
will think it strange. He couldn’t understand why 
you stayed behind to-day. I think he likes you a 
lot, Celia. He kept asking about you. And Celia 
I’ve been wanting to tell you!” perching herself on 
the wide window-ledge and staring off across the 
sun-dappled lawn. “I’d have told you this morning, 
but there wasn’t time. Oh, Celia, I’m so ashamed 
because of the horrid way I talked about him to you. 
Last night, after every one had gone, he told me 
about why he left Nice that time without even say¬ 
ing good-bye. He’d had a wire that his mother was 
suddenly taken ill, and he had only a few minutes to 
get a train. We left the day after he did, and for 
some reason his letter failed to follow us. You know 
how those things happen, especially in Europe. I 
know he was telling the truth, Celia, for he went on 
to explain about why he was so frigid in New York 
when we met him there. It was because he can’t bear 
to be praised. He thinks he doesn’t deserve any 



226 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


credit for his performances. He says God gave him 
his talent. It’s nothing that he acquired, though I 
think he’s wrong there. He deserves credit for de¬ 
veloping it, don’t you think? But he hates to be 
applauded. He says it just makes him horrid. It 
must be a complex of some sort, Celia. At any rate, 
he just can’t even be polite to people who gush over 
him, and that’s what Mother and I were doing, along 
with some others. It’s why he came down here the 
first time, Celia, to try to make me understand, and 
I—well, you know how I ran off to Newtonville and 
persisted in staying there!” 

She laughed, a little embarrassed at the confes¬ 
sion. “Well, anyway, we’re great friends again, and 
this time it’s going to last, I’m sure.” 

“I’m so glad, Sally!” Celia murmured, and she 
was. It meant a lot to know that Sally, whom she 
loved more than any one she had ever known, should 
share her brother’s thoughts and companionship. 
That they would continue to be friends, even when 
she knew she would be forgotten by both, would, in 
a way, make her lot easier to bear. 

“Please say you’ll go, Celia,” Sally begged. “I 
know you’ll enjoy this party, and it won’t be a late 
one. Family parties never are.” 

“Perhaps—after dinner,” Celia evaded. She 
must not be the cause of Sally’s missing the Club 
party, though she did not mean to go, herself. 



ANGELA SHOWS HER HAND 227 

"Of course you’ll feel better by that time!” Sally 
assured her. “Oh, and I forgot! I’ve got a fan 
that’s just the thing to go with that dress! I’ll run 
in with it after I’ve dressed.” 

Celia had no intention of even dining downstairs, 
much less of going to the party, though she longed 
most unbearably to do both and even took out the 
frock Sally had mentioned and gazed at it wistfully, 
holding it up against herself and staring for a long 
time in the mirror. But resolutely she put it away. 
She had no right to preen herself in finery that did 
not belong to her. She would not go on being the 
cheat she had started out to be. 

The conversation with Angela, distasteful as it 
had been, had cleared her perspective considerably. 
She could not run any chance of causing her brother 
the humiliation of learning how humbly his sister 
stood in the estimation of these friends of his. With 
Angela to watch and note each move she made, she 
felt that the ordeal would be more than she could 
bear. It would be impossible to keep her eyes from 
following him, to keep from meeting his glances. 
She couldn’t give Angela the opportunity to mis¬ 
construe them. No, she must remain here. She 
would go on with her reading and her note-taking, 
even though her head did feel queer, and in the morn¬ 
ing she’d make the excuse that she was feeling too 
bad to stay longer. There was nothing to be gained 


228 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


by staying on, except for the information she wanted, 
and there was much to lose. 

But it added none to her happiness to have Sally 
find her stretched on the chaise longue, the shades 
lowered, and a cold towel on her head when she came 
in with the fan. She felt as guilty as though her 
head were not really aching. 

“Oh, Celia, you poor thing! I thought you were 
just stalling. I’ll ring for an ice bag at once, and 
some of Mother’s powders.” 

She was gone in a flash and returned almost imme¬ 
diately followed by her mother and a maid. 

“You poor darling,” Mrs. Vandever exclaimed 
solicitously. “I knew we shouldn’t have left you 
with all those books, but Sally insisted that it was 
what you wanted. You’ve hardly had time to re¬ 
cover from that accident, either. It’s too bad that 
your visit should be spoiled.” 

She moved about as she talked, straightening a 
window shade, throwing back the coverlet of the 
bed, and shaking up a pillow. 

“Now, just let Marie rub your head and fix your 
bath and put you to bed, and you’ll be all right by 
morning. If you should need any one, you can 
ring for Marie, and she can call us at the club, if 
necessary. It happens I’m on the committee, so I 
feel obliged to go. There’s no sense in Sally’s stay¬ 
ing here with you. You’ll be better off asleep.” 


ANGELA SHOWS HER HAND 229 

Celia agreed with considerable warmth, relieved 
that she would not be interfering with Sally’s pleas¬ 
ure, yet considerably dismayed at the disturbance 
she had caused, and feeling more guilty than ever 
when forced to submit to the maid’s ministrations. 

She was left alone at last, and, cool and relaxed, 
she lay straining to catch the sounds that drifted 
faintly up from the dining-room. A light supper 
was on a little table beside her, but she felt curiously 
undesirous of food. She wanted to creep out and 
down the stairs so that she might get a glimpse of 
her brother, to listen for the sound of his voice, yet 
she was eager, too, for them to finish and depart. 

It seemed an eternity before the house was quiet 
and the swish of gravel under her window told her 
that their car had gone. 

Slipping quickly from her bed, she dressed hastily 
in the little frock she had worn that day, and, taking 
the book she had brought up from the library, she 
went slowly down the stairs, hoping, if possible, to 
avoid being seen by any of the servants. She could 
hear the faint clatter of dishes from the rear and 
guessed that they were having their own rather late 
supper. 

She was about to pass the door of the room where 
Mr. Vandever’s collection was kept when she saw 
with surprise that it stood partly open and that lights 
burned within. 


230 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


It was impossible to pass without looking in, for, 
since reading what she had that day, his cabinets of 
treasure were, if anything, more interesting than 
ever to her. If she could only get another glimpse 
of them! For she knew now that this was her last 
opportunity, since she meant to go home in the 
morning. 


i 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE OPEN DOOR 

Slowly and hesitantly she pushed the door wider 
and saw that the room was empty. She paused re¬ 
luctantly on the threshold, her eyes traveling eagerly 
about from one cabinet to another; then uncon¬ 
sciously she moved toward the nearest, the large 
rose-bound volume she was returning to the library 
clasped tightly in her arms. 

She stood entranced, gazing upon its fascinating 
contents, striving to place the various articles it 
contained. That lovely teapot with the beautiful 
green glaze leaves forming the base must be a Whiel- 
don “cauliflower.” Whieldon was the English pot¬ 
ter who had trained Spode and Wedgewood, wasn’t 
he? She must make sure, and, drawing up a low 
chair, she opened the book and searched rapidly 
for the information she sought. 

With a little laugh of satisfaction, she saw that she 
was right. If she could only fix in her mind the names 
of the famous potters and their various products! 
That Willow plate Sally had told her about the day 

231 


232 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


she came was by Spode. Wedgewood was the pot¬ 
ter who was responsible for that lovely jasper ware, 
wasn’t he? She went from one cabinet to another, 
searching for one of those exquisite pieces with its 
lovely white cameo decorations in classical designs 
and accompanying decorations of festoons and 
arabesques on delicately tinted backgrounds of blue, 
green, buff or lilac. Then she gave a little cry of 
delight as she discovered just the thing she was 
seeking. 

It became a game, almost, hunting for this piece 
and that, recognizing the work of this potter and 
that, and hunting through the book to corroborate 
her guesses. 

Those platters with the elaborate borders and 
scenes of old New York in the center were from the 
Staffordshire potteries in England, weren’t they? 
And wasn’t it at the Staffordshire potteries, lying 
between London and Liverpool, that Wedgewood 
and Whieldon, the three famous Spodes, and many 
other famous potters lived and worked—men whose 
great-great-grandfathers had been potters before 
them? Again she must prove her belief. 

Oh, it was all so fascinating, but just a bit difficult 
to remember! If old Jared could only see these 
things! She knew she’d never be able to explain to 
him their beauty of line, their exquisite colors, their 
fascinating decorations. If he could only see that 


233 


THE OPEN DOOR 

lovely plate with its ocean scenes, its delicate tracery 
border! What potter had made that ? she wondered. 
She could find nothing like it in her book, though she 
searched carefully. She leaned forward, staring in¬ 
tently, wholly absorbed in speculation. 

“IPs Dresden,” a deep masculine voice sounded 
just behind her, and she jumped guiltily to her feet, 
snatching hastily at the book, which was about to 
slide to the floor. 

Sally’s father! What would he think to find her 
here alone with his treasures ? 

“Oh!” she exclaimed in confusion. “I—you— 
rather startled me!” 

“I’m very sorry. I’ve been standing in the door¬ 
way several minutes. You were so absorbed I hated 
to interrupt.” 

“Oh, yes, I- The door was open and I— 

came in,” she explained rather lamely. 

“I see that you have one of my books,” he ob¬ 
served. “You are interested in ceramics?” 

“Yes. Oh, yes. Well, rather. A little.” She 
held out the book to him, furious with herself for 
being so abashed at his presence. 

He was certainly not formidable in appearance— 
a compactly built, though not heavily set, man of 
medium height, with rather irregular features and 
with no suggestion of unusual force about him ex¬ 
cept in a certain flash of his hazel eyes and a spas- 






234 CELIA'S CHOICE 

modic twitch at one corner of his mouth. He was 
not the sort of man one would suspect of having built 
a fortune from a piece of worthless farm land. 

But Celia had not forgotten how wroth he had 
been the day he found Sally at the Newtonville pot¬ 
tery. She felt an instinctive desire to soothe him, or 
at least to do nothing to incur his displeasure. 

“I—was alone—and I went to the library for 
something to read. It seemed so interesting I took 
it to my room.” 

“No apologies necessary,” he assured her briefly. 
“Just wanted to look up something, but there’s no 
hurry,” as she held the book toward him. 

“But I was returning it when I saw the door here 
was open.” 

When he took it from her, she added, “I hope you 
didn’t mind my coming in.” 

“Not at all, not at all. It was just a little sur¬ 
prising to find a girl of your years interested in 
ceramics. One doesn’t usually appreciate such 
things until one is much older.” 

“Oh, but I—” and then she caught herself up 
sharply. She could not tell him the truth about her¬ 
self without a lot of explanations, though she won¬ 
dered if he did not already know all there was to be 
known about her. With a sinking sensation, she 
realized anew what a mistake her coming had been, 
for might he not—by chance, anyway—let Julian 







THE OPEN DOOR 


235 


know about her? She felt suddenly a little sick, and 
realized with new conviction the truth of that little 
verse she had memorized a long time ago: 


“Oh, what a tangled web we weave 
When first we practise to deceive.” 


But his next words gave her new courage. 

“Sally’s friends are mostly a rather flighty lot. 
All young people seem to care about these days is 
tearing about, burning up gas and energy.” 

She nodded, a little afraid to speak for fear she’d 
involve herself inextricably. 

“How does it happen you’re not at the club party 
with them?” his rather heavy brows drawn together 
thoughtfully. 

“I—haven’t been feeling very well. My 
head-” 

He nodded understanding^, then asked sympa¬ 
thetically, “Feeling some better now?” 

“Some,” with a shy smile, hardly knowing what 
to say. 

“That plate you were so intent upon when I came 
in—” he said abruptly, selecting a key from a ring 
he took from his pocket and unlocking the cabinet. 
“Would you like to examine it? Though it’s Dres¬ 
den, it really should be called Meissen, for it was at 
Meissen, several miles from Dresden, that the King 
of Saxony constructed Bottger’s laboratory. Bott- 




236 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


ger, you know, was the first to introduce true porce¬ 
lain into Europe. I suppose you’ve read about how 
the King of Prussia, learning of Bottger’s success, 
sent for him to demonstrate his boasted accomplish¬ 
ments, but Bottger fled to Saxony, where the King 
of Saxony, also hearing of his success, refused to 
allow him to return to Prussia and sent him to Meis¬ 
sen, not far from Dresden, under guard. There he 
erected a laboratory for him. It’s in that book you 
were reading. No, I’m mistaken. Not in that one.” 

Celia was staring with incredulous eyes. 

“You mean that the King of Prussia and the King 
of Saxony were so interested in his work that they 
both wanted him?” 

“Why not? Kings have always been the ones to 
sponsor the arts, and the making of pottery is about 
the oldest art in existence. Take the French porce¬ 
lains, now. Had it not been for Louis Henri de 
Bourbon, we should not have had the Chantilly ware, 
and had it not been for Chantilly, France’s exquisite 
Sevres would never have come into being, perhaps. 
Sevres, you know, is considered, in the popular mind, 
practically superior to all, principally, I suppose, 
because it is the aristocrat among ceramics. It was 
the porcelain of French kings and the nobility of 
many lands, and its cost was prohibitive to all but 
the wealthiest. Yes, it was royalty in most cases 
who were responsible for the continued development 


237 


THE OPEN DOOR 

of the art, though in later years the business drifted 
into private ownerships.” 

“It was the kings who originated those lovely 
decorations?” Celia asked, eyeing a particularly 
lovely plate decorated with figures in sixteenth-cen¬ 
tury costumes. 

“Hardly, though they may have made some sug¬ 
gestions. It is rather well known that Madame de 
Pompadour of the court of Louis the Fifteenth con¬ 
tributed a great deal to the art. They tell a story 
of how she once surprised him with an indoor garden 
made entirely of porcelain flowers, each scented with 
its own particular perfume, and so realistic that he 
reached to pluck one before he discovered his mis¬ 
take. So keenly was she interested that she often 
visited the works and gave the artists and sculptors 
many inspirations for the beautiful results they at¬ 
tained. All the aristocracy of France, as well as of 
other countries, were deeply interested. Both Ma¬ 
dame du Barry, another favorite of Louis the Fif¬ 
teenth, and Marie Antoinette were great lovers of 
the art, and their influence was felt almost as keenly 
as was Madame de Pompadour’s.” 

He talked on and on of other French porcelains— 
Sceaux, Rouen, and St. Cloud—but her attention 
had begun to wander. She was visioning those fa¬ 
vorites of the French kings, strolling through the 
pottery at Newtonville, directing this workman and 




238 


CELIA'S CHOICE 


that, leaning entranced over old Jared’s table as a 
tall urn rose and fell under his skilful fingers on the 
whirler. Oh, for some one with the artistic insight 
of a Pompadour, a du Barry, or a Marie Antoinette, 
that she would have a chance to learn to model such 
a cluster of roses, such exquisite figurines! 

With hands trembling with eagerness, she took 
the little nymph he was holding out to her. 

“It was Kandler, the sculptor, who was responsi¬ 
ble for the Dresden figures. That and this little 
street vendor are all I have. It was the Dresden 
figures that were later imitated by the English pot¬ 
teries of Bow, Derby, and Chelsea. Now, the shep¬ 
herd and shepherdess in this little bower is by Bow 
and is called a bocage.” 

One piece after another he took up, handed to her, 
and replaced, while he talked on and on, calling her 
attention to the richness of this glaze or the thinness 
of that, to the bluish cast of this paste or the greenish 
cast of that, to the creaminess of one and the pure 
white of another. 

So interested was she that she scarcely dared 
breathe for fear she would break the spell. She 
could have listened to him for hours and hours. 

“Now, take this Capo di Monte vase. Prince 
Charles of Bourbon, who became King of Naples 
and Sicily, was another of those royal personages 
who loved beautiful things. So much was he in love 


239 


THE OPEN DOOR 

with porcelain that he frequently worked at the pot¬ 
tery near the royal palace at Naples, himself.” . 

“You mean he worked with his own hands—in 
the pottery?” 

“Yes. But of course the place was run on rather 
princely lines. The products were not sold in the or¬ 
dinary way, but at a fair attended principally by the 
aristocracy. When this King of Naples was made 
King of Spain, as Charles the Third, he took his best 
workmen with him to Madrid and established his fac¬ 
tory there. The Capo di Monte ware is similar to 
the Sevres except in decoration. The most inter¬ 
esting pieces made in Naples were the little gro¬ 
tesque figures.” 

Again her mind was back at the Newtonville pot¬ 
tery, but this time she was seeing a king in satin knee- 
breeches, lace ruffles, and powdered hair leaning over 
her own worktable, modeling those little clay figures 
that she used to make and hide so carefully behind 
the broken, faulty mugs on the low shelf under her 
table. 

If a king could work with clay, why should she 
need to feel humble and self-conscious whenever she 
thought of her love f or it ? Her head went up uncon¬ 
sciously, and that old tingling sensation in her fin¬ 
gers caused her to clasp her hands tightly together, 
for she had a sudden swift desire to feel the plastic 
softness between her fingers. Never again would 


240 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


she feel ashamed. She had a sudden impulse to 
blurt out the truth about herself, her love for it, and 
why she was here in his house where she so obviously 
had no right to be. She wished, too, that Julian 
could know. If he knew all the things about it that 
she was learning, he wouldn’t feel ashamed. He 
would feel proud of her interest in it. She visioned 
his earnest, alert face before her as she explained to 
him and, in imagination, showed him through the 
pottery and brought out her own crude little figures 
for his inspection. If he knew, perhaps he wouldn’t 
want to give her up. He might find a way to come 
to Newtonville and see the pottery. 

Then she came back to reality abruptly, for she 
remembered having passed his opened door on the 
way down. Though the room was unoccupied, a 
light was burning which disclosed to her such an 
array of silken lounging-robes, slippers, elaborate 
toilet accessories, and sporting equipment as only 
the most fastidious of men acquire. No, Julian 
Strassman couldn’t ever, by the greatest straining 
of the imagination, fit into Newtonville, its pottery, 
Aunt Clem’s little house, or her own rather drab 
and decidedly uneventful life. It would only make 
him unhappy to know the truth about her; of that 
she felt sure. Besides, though a king could work at 
making pottery, that added no distinction to her. 
She was only a trimmer and would no doubt con- 


THE OPEN DOOR 241 

tinue to be one indefinitely, once old Jared was well 
again, unless- 

Again she gave her attention to Mr. Vandever. 
She must listen and learn. She must take old Jared 
convincing evidence of these artistic creations if she 
meant to arouse his interest in her plan. 

So she strove to fix firmly in her mind each word 
that Mr. Vandever uttered as he traced back to their 
sources certain designs and glazes. He told her of 
Persian pottery, so different in material and deco¬ 
ration from that of the Chinese, which had influenced 
the European potters. 

A simple little luster jug became a thing of ro¬ 
mance when he took her back through the centuries 
to when Mohammedan skill first gave birth to those 
glowing purple and golden browns, iridescent with 
ruby fires, that were to be found in later years in the 
Hispano-Moresque and Italian majolica. 

She could have listened forever to his fascinating 
lore, and it was with a little frown of disappointment 
that she looked up when a maid interrupted from 
the doorway. 

“Mrs. Vandever is wanting you on the ’phone, 

• >> 
sir. 

“Bless me!” he exclaimed, and pulled out his 
watch with a guilty look. “I promised to run over 

to the party if I got home in time, and now- I’d 

almost forgotten it entirely.” He smiled sheepishly. 




242 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“But she knows my weakness. Whenever I can get 
any one to listen—” Then he turned back from the 
doorway to say, “If your head is better, wouldn’t 
you like to go along?” 

“I believe not,” she responded, and followed him 
out reluctantly, disappointed that there was to be no 
more talk of ceramics. 

“It’s for you to say.” He lifted a hand to her in 
farewell as she mounted the stairs to her room; then 
he opened the little booth which held the phone. 
“Can’t say that I blame you, though it seems a bit 
odd to find a girl more interested in ceramics than in 
dancing.” 

She made no response, but some of the light went 
out of her eyes as she went on up the stairs to her 
room. 

“As though I wouldn’t love to be dancing, too!” 
she muttered a little fiercely as she undressed and 
slid into bed. “And I will some day, too,” she prom¬ 
ised herself still more fiercely, “but not in borrowed 
party dresses, and not until I’ve earned the right!” 


CHAPTER XX 


AN UNEXPECTED MOVE 

Sleep was not long in overtaking Celia, for her 
eyes were tired and heavy from her close application 
to Mr. Vandever’s books and her mind weary from 
the strain of trying to assimilate all that she had 
read that day. 

It was not a restful sleep. One moment she was 
dancing with a curious lot of tiny beings who were 
nothing more nor less than plates, platters, teapots, 
and mugs with grotesque heads, legs, and arms. 
Again she was the center of a circle of them, being 
jeered and pointed at because she was unable to 
tell the name of each. They gave her no peace, and 
though she racked her brains frantically, her mind 
seemed a perfect blank. She began to feel very 
unhappy and ill-used and to almost dislike them. 

Then they seemed to have faded away, for she 
found herself beside Mr. Vandever while they dug 
desperately with their bare hands in the sandy soil 
of some old Persian ruins for a platter that Mr. Van¬ 
dever explained had been buried centuries before 

243 


244 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


when Tamerlane laid waste the city. Occasionally 
she had to pause to sketch the tree of life in the sand, 
for it seemed that only by being familiar with each 
detail of its pattern would she find what they were 
seeking. 

It was a queer, distorted dream. One moment she 
was a Moorish Princess surrounded by her hand¬ 
maidens, bargaining for a lovely majolica vase with 
a funny little man whom she was certain was Omar 
Khayyam, though he denied the charge over and 
over. Again she was a veiled Turkish maiden, 
searching through a confusing and seemingly end¬ 
less bazaar of lustrous silks, brilliant deep-piled 
rugs, intoxicatingly sweet perfumes, enticing 
sweets, gleaming brasses, carved ivory figures— 
an endless and mystifying array of the treasures of 
the East—for a great jar with a snarling dragon 
on its sides in which she knew her brother was hidden. 

It grew to be a most maddening dream, for she was 
conscious through it all that it was only a dream; 
but it seemed that she could not awaken until she 
had lived for countless years in those old, old coun¬ 
tries that had created the things she so dearly loved. 
It was as though she had no right to love them until 
she had lived and learned of the intangible influences 
of those ancient cities that had gone into their 
making. 

When she did finally awaken, it was to hear the 




AN UNEXPECTED MOVE 245 

strains of an organ drifting up to her from the music- 
room just under her window. She had been sur¬ 
prised to learn of the organ in the music-room, its 
pipes cleverly concealed behind beautifully carved 
paneling. She had thought of organs as belonging 
only to churches. She lay in a sort of sentient calm, 
listening dreamily to the high sweet notes with their 
undercurrent of sadness. They seemed, somehow, 
a part of the fantastic dream she had just expe¬ 
rienced. 

Then, dragging herself determinedly from the 
sleep that still clutched at her, she recognized with a 
glow of pleasure Drdla’s “Souvenir.” It brought to 
her mind at once a vision of the pottery and one of the 
Czechs who whistled it constantly. Once at Jared’s, 
he had played it over and over on his violin. Celia 
would never forget it. It had been so funny. Jared 
had said with a laugh, “ ‘Souvenir’ seems to be to 
Czechoslovakia what ‘Yes, We Have No Bananas’ 
was to America a few years ago,” and had won a 
quick contemptuous snort and a torrent of Czech ex¬ 
pletives from the musician, who, not content, had 
finished up in English, perhaps for the benefit of 
those who might not understand him as well as he 
wished. 

“Comparing Drdla’s ‘Souvenir’ with the music 
of America’s gutters!” he had raved. “Bah! Amer¬ 
ica! And Drdla—Franz Drdla—student of the 




246 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Vienna Conservatory, leader of the Theatre Orches¬ 
tra de Wien, and conductor of the Carl Theatre Or¬ 
chestra! Such a comparison! As though America 
has any musicians of her own! Even her jazz! 
Stolen from Russia! Bah!” and, lovingly shoul¬ 
dering his violin, he poured from it again his rendi¬ 
tion of the composition he so dearly loved. 

Celia, too, had loved it, and always would. It was 
interwoven so indelibly in her mind with the atmos¬ 
phere of the old pottery. She felt she could lie and 
listen to it forever. 

Music was so mysterious. You couldn’t under¬ 
stand it, and yet it had the power to stir you in the 
most unexpected fashion. Just a few notes, the 
combination of a few sounds, and immediately into 
your mind came memories of places, people, and 
things you might never have thought of otherwise. 

She stirred uneasily after a time and sat up. 
Could it be Ted, her brother, playing like that? 
Could it really be he? 

A little awed, her heart swelling with an unac¬ 
countable emotion, she slipped from her bed and 
into her clothes. Of course it was Ted! But she 
must be sure. 

Softly she left the room and went down the stairs, 
listening in a sort of painful ecstasy to this music 
that had separated her from her brother and would 
continue to do so. 


AN UNEXPECTED MOVE 247 

Moving cautiously, she crossed the hall and en¬ 
tered the room. 

His back was toward her, and, tiptoeing cau¬ 
tiously, she moved toward an alcove at the far side 
of the room. There she could listen and, through 
the curtain that draped the arched doorway, see him 
without being seen. 

And there Sally, coming in through an outside 
door, found her some time later, sitting on a low 
stool, staring through a tiny aperture in the parted 
curtains, and listening with rapt attention to Shu- 
bert’s “Serenade.” 

She looked up a bit dazed at being found so by 
Sally; then she arose quickly with a little flush of 
embarrassment. But before she could speak, Sally 
exclaimed, 

“Now I know you’re feeling better to be down so 
early, Celia. Head all right this morning?” 

Celia nodded, forgetting for the moment that her 
head was to be the excuse for returning home at 
once. 

“I’m so glad! We’re having a pool party this 
morning. Swimming feats, you know, and late this 
afternoon we’re going to the cliff above the river for 
a picnic supper.” 

“But, Sally,” Celia began, “I can’t stay! I must 
go home. I—I-” She paused, angry at her¬ 

self for her stupid confusion. 



248 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Home?” exclaimed Sally. “Why, you’ve only 
just come and you’ve had no fun at all!” 

“Oh, but I have! It’s been wonderful! I shall 
always remember how kind you’ve been!” 

“I haven’t done anything yet! You can’t go, 
Celia,” decisively, “I simply won’t let you. I invited 
you here—well, for several reasons, the principal 
one being to make you enjoy yourself!” 

“I have, Sally! It’s what I’ve been telling you. 
It’s been wonderful. But I can’t stay on. I—I— 
just don’t fit in—with—all this.” With a wave of 
her hand about them. “I’ve—got—to—work—I 
can’t play—like you ” 

Sally was gazing thoughtfully at her. “I see 
what you mean, Celia, but the pottery’s closed, you 
know. I just can’t let you go yet. Besides, you 
haven’t seen Dad’s treasures. I want him to find 
out—” and then she broke off as Celia looked up 
quickly, a light of sudden consternation in her eyes. 

“I forgot, Celia. Of course I sha’n’t let him or 
any one here know about your working in the pot¬ 
tery, since you don’t want me to. But I had been 
thinking, if he could know how keen you were about 
ceramics, he might make a point of doing—some¬ 
thing—for you. I mean—give you a better posi¬ 
tion or something like that.” She paused, plainly 
embarrassed, then said quickly, “But of course I 
sha’n’t mention it while you’re here, and I know 











AN UNEXPECTED MOVE 249 

Mother won’t. She likes you so much, Celia. She 
felt so bad about leaving you last night. But I do 
want Dad to tell you about his things before you go.” 

“ITe has told me. I went last night after you 
had gone, to return his book to the library, and the 
room his things are in was lighted and open. I 
had to stop. Then he came. He told me about 
them.” 

“He couldn’t have had time to tell you much, for 
he was at the club.” She put an impulsive arm 
about Celia. “Now, I sha’n’t listen to anv more 
protests, Celia. It’ll ruin all my plans if you leave 
before I say you can. I’ve been telling Julian how 
you can dive, and he’s rather keen to see you. He’ll 
think it strange if you rush off after you’ve just 
come.” 

Reluctantly Celia allowed herself to be persuaded, 
though she determined that nothing should keep 
her from going the following day. She must get 
back with her sketches and her information and 
plans to Jared. She must have time in which to 
make him see her point of view. But she did long 
unbearably for a chance to talk to her brother, if 
only for a few moments—to be near him, to study 
his face so that she might carry home with her his 
likeness in clay as nearly as it was possible for her 
to obtain it. 

But she knew she would have to be very careful. 



250 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


She must do nothing to cause Angela to think that 
she had any special interest in him. 

Though she made one of the active party that dis¬ 
ported themselves in the pool, and won enthusiastic 
praise from him as well as others, there was no op¬ 
portunity for intimate talk between them, nor did 
she dare let her eyes rest on his dark, alert counte¬ 
nance for more than a few seconds at a time, for 
always she was conscious that Angela’s eyes were 
upon her, watching for the least sign that she was 
overstepping herself. 

But more than once she looked up to find him 
gazing at her with a certain admiration in his eyes, 
and she would look hurriedly away for fear Angela, 
too, might see. 

She found time after lunch to add a few touches 
to the clay bust on the bathroom shelf, though there 
was a certain expression of chin and mouth that per¬ 
sisted in eluding her. If only she could be with him 
alone for a few moments, away from Angela’s watch¬ 
ful eyes, just long enough to fix in her memory the 
curve of his lips and chin! But she gave up the 
thought with a sigh. There wasn’t the least possible 
chance. Julian Strassman was far too interesting 
and important to be allowed any time to be with her. 

But when nightfall came, the picnic lunch on the 
rocky cliff eaten and the crowd gathered about a big 
camp fire that had been lighted to toast marshmal- 


AN UNEXPECTED MOVE 251 

lows, Celia found her chance to stare without danger 
of being observed by any one. 

A cool wind had sprung up, and the young people 
were grouped into threes and fours about the fire, 
drawing about their shoulders the light sweaters and 
blazers they had brought for just such a contingency. 
Their laughing chatter finally became more and 
more subdued when those who had brought ukeleles 
began picking fitfully at the strings. Celia, unno¬ 
ticed, seated herself well out of the circle of light 
from the fire, under a huge sycamore whose roots 
were like great claws. She had a feeling of being 
apart, which she undoubtedly was, but she wondered 
whether, if she really belonged in this circle of Sally’s, 
she could be as aimlessly happy, as gayly irrespon¬ 
sible, as these young people encircling the fire. But, 
though she told herself sensibly that she never could 
be, she swallowed a lump in her throat as she thought 
she would give anything to be really one of them. 

She blinked rapidly to keep back the tears that 
welled up in her eyes, and told herself firmly that 
some day, if she could gain old Jared’s cooperation, 
she would have her chance. There was no sense in 
being maudlin with self-pity. It was energy wasted. 

Leaning back against the trunk of the great tree, 
she rested her hands flat upon the earth. She loved 
the feel of it. It brought a comforting sensation 
to her fingers, something of a sense of power—that 



252 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


same indefinable feeling that she knew only when 
her fingers were busy with the clay. 

She eyed her brother determinedly, but rather 
wistfully, as he sat between Sally and Angela on 
the other side of the fire. If she could only fix in 
her mind the shape of his mouth and chin! 

He, too, strummed a ukelele and joined in sing¬ 
ing the light gay songs of the day, that all young 
people love. And when they paused for a moment, 
he began alone in a gentle baritone: 

“I want to meander in the meadow 
Where the birds-” 

But Sally broke abruptly into his song: “You’d 
better be meandering on down to the station, since 
you promised Mother to meet the eight-thirty. 
Come on, all of you! It’s time we’re getting back 
to the house!” 

“Aw, there’s plenty of time, Sally!” several pro¬ 
tested, but Sally would not listen. She marched 
ahead toward the waiting motors, and in twos and 
threes they followed reluctantly after. 

To Celia’s surprise, she found Julian beside her 
as she brought up the rear. 

“I’ve been trying to get a chance to talk to you, 
Celia,” he said as he helped her down a gully and 
up the bank, “but it seems impossible. Why so 
exclusive?” 



AN UNEXPECTED MOVE 253 

As she murmured an excuse, she wondered a little 
at the serious note in his voice. He had been so gay 
all evening. It had made her just a little sad that 
he should seem unaffected by the circumstances that 
separated them. 

‘T want to tell you that Mother and Dad—the 
Strassmans—my—my foster-parents, you know—” 
stumbling rather awkwardly on the words, “are 
coming down.” 

“Coming down— here?” in sudden consternation. 

“Yes. I wrote them that they must come down 
at once. Mrs. Vandever said I might. She’s won¬ 
derful, don’t you think? You see, I want them to 
know about you.” 

“About me?” stopping to stare at him in astonish¬ 
ment. 

“Why not? They’ve got to know. They’ve got 
to do something about you! You’re my sister. I 
want-” 

“Oh, but, Julian!” She breathed. “You can’t! 
You mustn’t!” 

And she had thought he didn’t care—except in a 
superficial way! 

“Rather crusty of me, asking the Vandevers to 
invite them down, but when they, too, know about 
you- 

His hand slid under her arm, and he squeezed it 
to him in a quick affectionate gesture. 







254 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


It was then that Angela, a little ahead of them, 
turned in the path and saw them. 

Celia’s thoughts were in a whirl. What could 
she do? The Strassmans must not know about her I 
Julian was mad to think that they would care any¬ 
thing about her. She did not want them to. They 
had wanted only him, not her. And Aunt Clem! 
What would Aunt Clem think? 

Angela had turned again to stare. 

“They must not come, Julian!” she exclaimed 
quickly, distressed at Angela’s notice almost as 
much as by what he had said. 

“But they’re on their way here now. It’s their 
train I’m going to meet. Don’t look so disturbed, 
Celia. When you know them—when they know 
you-” 

They had reached the cars, also the keen ears of 
those who had gone ahead, and who were always only 
too eager to listen to each word that Julian Strass- 
man chose to utter. 

“Stop in the alcove of the music-room before you 
go up to change,” he whispered, leaning down with 
a pretense of retying his shoe. “It’s a good half- 
hour before train time. I’ll explain-” 

What a mistake she had made, she thought swiftly, 
in not going home that morning! It might have 
saved this dreadful situation. Now Julian, as well 
as his parents, would have to know the truth—that 





AN UNEXPECTED MOVE 255 

she was not really a dear friend of Sally’s as he be¬ 
lieved, but only a girl who worked in a pottery, whom 
Sally felt sorry for and wanted to befriend—a girl 
who had not sense enough to realize that she should 
have stayed where she belonged instead of pretend¬ 
ing to a world that could never be hers. As for al¬ 
lowing him to thrust her on his foster-parents—she 
wouldn’t! It was unthinkable that they would even 
consider recognizing her as a part of Julian’s life, 
now that he had attained the success they had sought 
for him. 

And they would blame Aunt Clem, and Aunt 
Clem would suffer! 

What could she do? She must spare him the hu¬ 
miliation of knowing the truth about her and having 
his parents know. Her brain seethed all the way to 
the house with the effort she made to find some ready 
solution to the problem. 

There was no solution, she finally decided. His 
career would be ruined, once the world knew the 
truth about them both. She must make him see, in 
some way, how impossible it was for him to acknowl¬ 
edge her as his sister. But how was she to do it? 




CHAPTER XXI 


RETREAT 

Celia had no trouble in slipping unobserved into 
the music-room, for the others hurried immediately 
to the upper regions of the house to change to more 
suitable clothing for the evening. 

As she went in through the curtains, Julian was 
coming in through the door that opened upon the 
drive. 

She hurried up to him. 

44 You simply must not tell your parents about me, 
Julian,” she exclaimed in a low tense voice. “You 
told me when I met you in the garden the night you 
came how important it was to your career that noth¬ 
ing be known about your having been born in this 
country of American parents—and having a sis¬ 
ter -” 

“Oh, that was at first, Celia! That was before 
I’d a chance to realize how interesting a sister like 
you might make a fellow’s life.” 

She shook her head, too deeply disturbed at the 
thought of his wanting her to be able to think. 

256 




RETREAT 


257 


“It would be such fun, Celia, showing you Europe, 

having you meet the people we know-” 

“It can’t be, Julian!” she insisted quickly, afraid 
to hear more for fear her resolution might weaken. 
“I understand now why Aunt Clem was so firm in 
refusing to allow us to meet. Your parents must 
be considered above everything! It was part of 
their bargain. She gave them a promise, and it is 
your duty and mine to respect it. It would ruin 
everything they have worked so hard to attain to 
have the truth known. I know they would never con¬ 
sent, and it would only make them terribly unhappy. 

Please, Julian, don’t humiliate me by-” 

“Humiliate you?” sharply. “There would be no 
reason for you to be—humiliated! Why, Celia!” 
clasping her hands in his. “When I tell them—when 

they see you- You’ve no idea how proud I am 

of you! A fellow who’d let anything separate him 

from a sister like you-” 

“But you told me yourself, Julian, that all of 
Europe believes you are their own son—that your 
press-agents-” 

He frowned. “We needn’t bother about that, 
Celia. Press-agents have plenty of initiative. It’s 
their business to have. Once they glimpse you and 
know the truth, they’ll get you in the picture some¬ 
how. I’ve lots of faith in my press-agents. Think 
of the sensation the tale will cause. Can’t you im- 









258 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


agine the headlines and perhaps a full-page spread 
of the story? ‘Noted pianist discovers long-lost sis¬ 
ter ! While a guest at the country home of the beau¬ 
tiful and exclusive Sally Vandever, Julian Strass- 
man finds that Sally’s dear friend, Celia Carson, is 
the little sister from whom he has been separated 
since childhood!’ The world simply dotes on see¬ 
ing loved ones reunited, Celia. They’ll eat it up!” 

She shook her head. “I—don’t agree with you, 
Julian, and I don’t think your parents will, either, 
when they’ve led every one to believe you to be their 
own son!” 

Again he frowned. “I’m coming to that part, 
Celia. We might even pretend that they didn’t know 
I wasn’t their son! We could drag in the old World 
War and pretend their boy had been separated from 
them, and when they found me later in an orphanage 
in France, they thought I was he. But why have 
me rack my brains to think up a plausible tale, Celia ? 
That’s how press-agents earn their money.” 

She tried to withdraw her hands, but he held them 
firmly. She must think—think. There was only 
one thing left to say now. She could not have them 
angry at Aunt Clem. 

“You cant, Julian!” she said through stiff lips. 
“You can’t force me on them without—my consent. 
I’ve got a right to have some say in the matter. I’ve 
a right to my own life.” 



RETREAT 259 

He stared down at her a moment, then released her 
hands and said jerkily, “Oh, I hadn’t thought— 
you d object! Of course you have a right to your 
own life. I didn’t mean to force you. I thought 
you’d be glad—if we could be together. I thought 
you felt toward me—as I do toward you.” 

She stood, her eyes lowered, every nerve quivering. 
To have him want her so badly that he was willing 
to risk his whole future, and then to have to refuse! 
But she couldn’t humiliate him by having him know 
the truth, and she couldn’t let him force her upon 
the Strassmans, who had been so insistent on his 
having no connection whatever with his former rel¬ 
atives. She had to respect her aunt’s promise. It 
was almost unbearable to lose him—but it would 
have to be. The most she could hope for was that 
he would never know how humble was her place 
in life. 

“I’m sorry, Celia,” he said after a moment. “I 
didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I’ve always been 
a little too sentimental about my early childhood and 
you. But it’s been so deuced lonely at times.” 

When he saw that she remained completely un¬ 
moved and made no attempt to respond, he turned 
with a hurt gesture toward the door and said, “Well, 
I must go. You can depend on me not to mention 
the matter to them, since it makes you so unhappy. 
But perhaps after you meet them and see how fine 




260 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


I 


they are, you’ll change your mind. And when they 

see you, Celia- But we’ll say no more about it 

now.” 

He started again toward the door, his eyes dark 
with disappointment, his lips twitching a little with 
hurt pride. 

“Julian!” she exclaimed, moving quickly toward 
him. Then, scarcely knowing what she did, her 
hands reached for his face, where her fingers gently 
but greedily felt of his broad brow, his slender nose, 
firm chin, and twitching mouth—each tiny muscle 
and indenture. 

Then she drew in her breath with a sob of disgust 
for her own weakness. Her hands—why couldn’t 
she have prevented them from betraying her? She 
turned swiftly away, but he caught them and held 
them fast. 

“Celia!” he exclaimed. “You do care! You’re 

just too proud to let them think- But wait! 

When they see you-! I’ll lead them up to it 

gently. Will you trust me, Celia? You sha’n’t be 
embarrassed—in the least! Oh, but I must go, or 
I shall miss them!” 

He smiled down upon her happily, satisfied, and 
proud of his ability to banish her fears—a smile she 
resolved never to forget. Then he was gone. 

She sat for a moment limply on the settee, her 
head against the wall. She heard the start of his 








RETREAT 


261 


motor, the deep powerful hum and the crunch of 
gravel as he shot around the drive. 

She must pretend to be ill again and then leave in 
the morning on the seven o’clock bus, for she could 
not meet the Strassmans. She would slip a note 
under Julian’s door—a note that would give him 
implicitly to understand that she could not and 
would not be forced on the Strassmans, that she 
meant to abide to the letter by the promise her Aunt 
Clem had made his parents when they adopted him. 
After all, she told herself sadly, it was the right thing 
to do. She was relieved at the thought. It helped, 
in a way, to do what she had to do. 

She got up slowly. She must find Sally and let 
her know that she was going home in the morning; 
then she drew back, surprised at the sight of Angela 
standing between the parted portieres. Beyond An¬ 
gela, she saw others of the picnic party clustered 
about the radio. 

Her eyes came back to Angela apprehensively and 
dropped beneath the chill brown stare. 

“So this is how you keep your promise?” 

“What do you mean, Angela?” 

“Mean? As though you don’t know!” her red 

lips curling. “That day I came- Didn’t you 

beg me not to let Julian Strassman know you weren’t 
really one of Sally’s friends, but only a girl who 
worked in a pottery, whom she felt sorry for? And 



262 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


didn’t I promise not to let him know on condition 
that you kept away from him?” 

Celia bowed her head in assent. 

‘‘Then, since you haven’t kept your word, you 
can hardly expect me to keep mine.” 

“But, Angela-” 

“Don’t try to pretend that you haven’t had him 
in here alone with you ever since we got back to the 
house! You haven’t even changed your frock, and 
as we came into the music-room just now, we heard 
his voice distinctly, and heard his car as he left for 
the station. Do you claim that he wasn’t here with 
you?” 

“No,” Celia returned weakly, “but—but-” 

Angela surveyed her with a sort of puzzled con¬ 
tempt for a moment, then continued, “I honestly 
can’t imagine what you’re up to, Celia. I can’t 
think for a moment you’d be trying to impress Julian 
Strassmanj with your background!” 

Celia was too sick at heart to make any attempt 
to defend herself, for she knew there was nothing she 
could say. She could not explain her interest in 
Julian Strassman to Angela or to any one. 

“Just how do you think Sally will feel when she 
hears that you’re bidding for his attention, slipping 
off this way-” 

“Oh, Angela,” Celia begged in quick distress, 
“please don’t say anything to Sally! We were only 






RETREAT 


263 


talking about—about—Sally wouldn’t care in the 
least! Why should Sally care if we talked a little?” 

If she could only think up some way of defending 
herself! But it was so hard to lie, and the truth was 
impossible. 

She could not bear to have Sally turn against her. 
She loved Sally and always would, even though their 
worlds were so far apart and their paths would prob¬ 
ably never cross again. She had no illusions about 
her friendship with Sally. She did not expect it to 
continue, and yet she did want to keep Sally’s regard. 
There might be times in her life when Sally might re¬ 
member her kindly. But if Angela told- 

“For all we know, you’ve been having these tete-a- 
tetes with him whenever you could find the chance.” 

Oh, but I haven’t, Angela! I—he- 

“Your very confusion is against you,” Angela re¬ 
marked, surveying her coolly, “and since I’m Sally’s 

friend, I think it’s my place to let her know-” 

Celia’s face grew white, but she said nothing. 

“It would be different, Celia,” Angela went on, 
her tone softening somewhat, “if you were really one 
of us. But since Sally furnished you with the clothes 
to wear here, and every one knows how much she 
thinks of Julian-” 

“But, Angela, I—I’m going home in the morning! 
It surely isn’t necessary—I don’t—really expect— 
to ever see Sally again. I—I—realize that—that 











264 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


she’s been unnecessarily kind to me. But—but—I 
do love her, Angela, and I wouldn’t do a thing to 
make her unhappy. Please don’t-” 

“Every one loves Sally,” Angela returned. “It 
isn’t hard to have people love you when you’re as rich 
and good-looking and generous as she is. I can 
easily understand why you want to keep her friend¬ 
ship.” 

“But I—don’t expect to keep it, Angela. I know 
I can’t be—like her friends. I’ve got to work. 
Really, Angela, I don’t ever expect to see her again.” 

“But what about Julian?” Angela asked. “You 
haven’t said a thing about not expecting to see him 
again? You’re so adept at posing, you’ll probably 
find some way to keep up your bluff of belonging in 

Sally’s crowd until you-” Again her brown 

eyes flashed. “I tell you, Celia, I won’t stand by 
and see you make a fool of him. I’ve always liked 
you, Celia, and you know it. Mother and I have al¬ 
ways been nice to you. We’ve tried to make things 
as pleasant for you as we could, because we knew 
you hadn’t a chance to have many advantages. But 
you’ve no one to blame but yourself. You chose to 
go to work in that dirty pottery when you could have 
had a nice, respectable position with Dad. You 
can’t expect us to feel the same toward you. Just 
because Sally took a wild notion to invite you here, 
it doesn’t change that fact in the least. How many 






RETREAT 


265 


glances do you think Julian Strassman will cast your 
way when he learns the truth about you?” 

Celia shed the last shreds of her tattered pride. 
She forgot all the little slights she had suffered from 
Angela as far back as she could remember. She 
knew only that Angela spoke the truth, that Angela 
was in the right, but she must make an effort to ob¬ 
tain her silence. 

“Please, Angela,” she begged, “don’t let him 
know. Really, I’m going home in the morning. 
It’s as you say. I should never have come. I sha’n’t 
ever again pretend to something I’m not. Please,” 
she implored again, catching up Angela’s hand, 
“don’t say anything to him about me, will you? I’m 
going home in the morning. I’m not going to see 
him again. I don’t expect ever to see him again. 
Please, please believe me, Angela.” 

The portieres were parted suddenly, and a tall 
youth put his head in and exclaimed, “Lay off the 
chatter in here, will you? We’re trying to get 
Cuba.” 

Celia turned a little sick. Had those others in 
there heard ? Angela’s voice had been low and so had 
her own, but could they have heard? 

Angela quite evidently cared nothing as to 
whether they had or not, for she remarked coolly and 
loudly, “I’m just doing Sally Vandever a favor.” 

To Celia’s further dismay, Sally’s voice came dis- 


266 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


tinctly from the far end of the music-room: “Doing 
me a favor? Who is? I want to know!” 

Too sick at heart to face Sally and the others, for 
she felt sure that Angela meant to carry out her 
threat, she slipped out the door to the drive, found 
the side stairway that led to the second floor, and 
hurried up. There was only one thing to do, and 
that was to go away at once, to get back home to 
Aunt Clem, away from unjust accusations that could 
not be explained and from the embarrassment of 
meeting Julian’s parents, whom she knew could not 
and would not like her. Yes, she must go. She 
must save him the humiliation that her presence 
here would mean, once he knew the truth about her. 
Flight was the only thing that offered a way out of 
the impossible situation. She was a fool to have 
come. She knew that now. But she would go at 
once. There was an evening bus, she knew, though 
she was uncertain about the time of its going. But 
she must make it! 

She took time only to scrawl a hasty and unsatis¬ 
factory note to Sally. She would have liked to make 
it a little more fervent with the warm feelings she 
had for Sally and her gratitude for this visit, for the 
knowledge she had gained of those lovely treasures 
of her father; but she had no time to search her mind 
for appreciative phrases. It was too important that 
she leave at once. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A HIDE IN THE NIGHT 

She left her note to Sally open upon the little 
desk by the window, dragged from the closet her 
suitcase containing the whole of her wardrobe—the 
pongee skirt, green sweater, blue and pink voiles, 
and the white graduation dress. She opened it hast¬ 
ily and took out the little purse that held her return 
fare home, then she snapped it shut, grasped it with 
a firm hand, and hurriedly left the room. 

There was a back staircase, she knew. She would 
slip out that way, cross the tennis-court, skirt the 
greenhouse, and come out on the road. She was 
thankful that it was dark. There would be less 
chance of being seen by any one. 

She did manage to get out of the house unseen, 
but, in hurrying around the rear corner, she collided 
squarely with a man pacing there. To her dismay, 
she saw that it was Sally’s father. 

The red end of his burning cigar looked to her 
just then like the headlight of an engine turned di¬ 
rectly on her. 


267 



268 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“Oh!” she panted in mortified accents, stooping 
hastily to retrieve her fallen suitcase. “I’m terribly 
sorry! Did I hurt you ? I’m sure I didn’t mean to!” 

“Well!” testily, “I did think I could enjoy the 
quiet of my own back yard and a good cigar without 
having a suitcase catapulted into me.” 

He did not finish his sentence, and she knew from 
his tone that he took her to be one of the servants. 
So much the better. He would not think it so odd, 
her leaving this way. 

He evidently did think it odd, as soon as he had 
a chance to think at all, for he said peevishly, “Can’t 
Jenkins manage to look after the luggage?” Then, 
as a new thought struck him, “Look here, are you 
leaving with all this company and more coming? 
Does the Madame know?” 

He was quite close to her now, turning the lighter 
he had been holding to a fresh cigar full on her face. 

“I’m not—one of the maids,” she told him hur¬ 
riedly. 

“So I see. My mistake. Sorry. But isn’t this a 
bit unusual? Where do you think you’re going with 
that suitcase?” 

“Home,” she told him quickly and a bit defiantly. 

“But isn’t the back way a rather odd way to be 
leaving, and no one bidding you farewell?” 

She just couldn’t stop to explain. There was not 
time. The others might come out and find her. Be- 




She collided with a man.— Page 267 





















A RIDE IN THE NIGHT 271 

sides, she might miss the bus. She must get away 
at once. And yet, Sally’s father could not be ig¬ 
nored. He had been so nice to her that night he 
had shown her his treasures. She hoped desperately 
that in the dark he had not recognized her as the girl 
who had been interested in them. 

She tried as best she could to keep down the ex¬ 
citement that was making her heart pound unevenly. 

“I’ve got to go at once. I don’t want Sally to 
know. I can’t stay here. I can’t explain now, but 
I left a note. She’ll understand.” 

“I see,” he said, removing his cigar, and she could 
feel his eyes searching her face in the darkness. 
Then, after a moment’s pause, “Well, since you’re 
determined to leave, I’ll drive you down. I sup¬ 
pose you’re taking the bus. It’s quite a little piece 
to be carrying that suitcase and a girl of your age 
has no business on a public road after dark.” 

“Oh!” she protested, “I couldn’t let you, when 
you’re expecting guests!” remembering the Strass- 
mans who were due at any moment, yet considerably 
relieved that he had no intention of trying to detain 
her. “It’s early. I’m not afraid.” 

“It’ll take only a few minutes.” 

He took her firmly by the arm, her suitcase in his 
other hand, and led her past the kitchen-garden to 
the garage. 

She hardly knew whether to feel grateful or dis- 


272 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


tressed. She had hoped that no one would know of 
her departure for some time. Still, she rather 
dreaded that long walk to town along the country 
road. There was danger, too, of missing the evening 
bus. She was not at all sure just what time it went 
through. 

“So you’re taking French leave, eh?” he remarked 
as he climbed into the roadster beside her and 
slammed the door. 

“I—suppose you would call it that,” as they swung 
about the drive, past the open windows of the music- 
room whence drifted the sound of subdued but in¬ 
tense voices. 

Were they discussing her? she wondered deject¬ 
edly. Had Angela told Sally about Julian and her 
talking together in the alcove? Did Julian know 
about her ? But he could not have returned yet from 
the station. 

If only he didn’t have to know! Maybe, when 
Angela found out she had gone home, she would 
think it unnecessary to inform him. It was a com¬ 
forting thought, and she tried to make herself believe 
it. She hated to have him think of her as a cheat— 
a social climber, who had succeeded only in making 
herself ridiculous. 

Busy with her thoughts, she forgot that Mr. Van- 
dever might still be considerably puzzled at her un¬ 
conventional departure. 




A RIDE IN THE NIGHT 273 

And when he asked, “Is Sally to blame?” she ex¬ 
claimed quickly, “Sally? Oh, no! Sally’s been won¬ 
derful! Sally wouldn’t-!” 

“Then-?” he prompted. 

She sensed the sympathy he felt toward her, even 
though his words betrayed no hint of it. She felt 
suddenly a wild desire to weep, to blurt out the whole 
miserable story, but she knew she had no right to. 
Julian’s secret belonged to him and the Strassmans. 
She had no right to reveal the relationship that ex¬ 
isted between them. 

But she had to tell the truth as far as was possible. 
It would be such a relief to tell some one, and even 
though he felt the contempt for her which she ex¬ 
pected, she felt that she must tell him. It was use¬ 
less, anyway, to try to keep him from knowing, for 
she was sure Angela had told the others, and even 
though she might not tell Julian, herself, some one 
else probably would. To those of Sally’s world, her 
little pretense would seem as amusing as it was cheap. 

“I’m just a cheap little cheat,” she told him finally, 
“and I realize just how ridiculous I must appear to 
them all. I—I don’t blame any one. If I’d had 
any sense, I’d never have come to Inglenook in the 
first place.” 

He drove on in silence for a time, apparently in¬ 
tent on his own thoughts. They plunged into a dim 
aisle of pungent pines. She sniffed unconsciously. 





274 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


It reminded her of home—the peace and security of 
Aunt Clem’s little house on its pine-dotted slope. 

“ ‘A cheap little cheat,’ ” he repeated musingly. 

“Yes. Posing as one of Sally’s friends.” 

“But I don’t understand. If you’re not one of 
her friends, how came you to be here?” 

“It’s just because- Oh, don’t you see-!” 

a little desperate for the words that were so hard to 
utter. “I’m the girl who was so interested in your 
porcelains!” 

He nodded. “It’s what I thought. And though 
I’ve been putting two and two together, it doesn’t 
seem to make four.” 

She laughed shakily, then said hurriedly, “I’m not 
really one of Sally’s friends. I—I work in the pot¬ 
tery at Newtonville. That is, I did until it was 
closed.” 

“Work—in the—pottery—at Newtonville?” he 
asked, turning in surprise and staring at Celia’s 
tense little figure. “Then how came you to 
be-?” 

For a moment Celia could not speak. Suppose 
when he knew the truth about her, he would not want 
her to work for him, now that he owned the pottery? 
Then her plans, the hopes she had been cuddling to 
her of some day learning to model, everything, would 
be wrecked. 

She sat suddenly erect with a little cry of dismay. 









A RIDE m THE NIGHT 275 

My notes! ’ she exclaimed. “I’ve got to go back! 
“I’ve forgotten my notes1” 

He looked at her curiously. “Your notes ? What 
notes? Love-notes?” 

“Love-notes?” a little contemptuously; then with 
mounting distress, indifferent to what he thought, 
“Can’t we go back? I can slip in—some way. I’ve 
got to have those notes!” 

He had slowed the car down. “It’s for you to 
say. But you’ll probably miss the bus.” 

“Oh! Oh!” She wrung her hands in real distress. 

“If you’ll tell me where to find them, I’ll be glad 
to forward them to you.” 

“Oh, will you?” she exclaimed, immensely re¬ 
lieved. “They’re in the desk drawer in my room.” 

“And you’ll trust me not to peep into them?” sly 
amusement in his voice. 

“Peep into them? Oh!” she laughed relievedly. 
“They’re not that kind! Just notes I took on what 
I read in some of your books—about pottery, you 
know.” 

He had increased their speed, and, though he kept 
a watchful eye on the turns in the road, he took oc¬ 
casion every now and then to look at her with new 
interest. 

“It’s why I came,” she hurried on to explain. “I 
mean, why Sally asked me. She found out how 
interested I was in ceramics, especially figurines, and 



276 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


she wanted me to see your collection. I guess, too, 
she felt a little sorry for me and wanted me—to have 
a good time. I just can’t say whether I went wholly 
on account of the ceramics or—whether—it was 
partly because—I knew I’d enjoy being in Sally’s 
lovely home, though I tried to make myself believe 
it was just the ceramics. I just can’t seem to help 
loving—beautiful things, wanting to be near them,” 
she added honestly. 

“You are candid,” he commented. 

“I—I’m trying to be truthful. You see, we’ve 
always been poor. Not that I minded. When you’re 
young, you don’t mind so much, I guess. And there 
was always the Duvals’ house full of lovely things 

until- And then there was the pottery. It— 

wasn’t lovely, but they made lovely things there.” 

“Yes?” encouragingly. 

“Yes. It—it—I can hardly explain about how 
much it meant. I was so little when I first began 
to love it. It—used to seem a little like magic—the 
way they’d work the clay into shapes and dip it in the 
glaze, that didn’t seem to have any color, and then, 
after they put the things in the ovens and fired them, 
they’d come out such lovely colors. The way old 
Jared would shape the vases on the wheel that spun 
round and round seemed so marvelous. And the clay 
—the way it felt in one’s fingers—as though—almost 
as though—it breathed!” 











A RIDE IN THE NIGHT 277 

She paused dreamily, and neither spoke for a time, 
only the deep contented hum of the motor and the 
scrunch of gravel under the wheels breaking the 
stillness of the night about them. 

“I can’t seem to remember seeing you when I was 
there,” he said finally. “What did you do?” 

“I trimmed the things that came from the molds 
until old Jared Stornoff got sick. Then they let me 
use the wheel. He’d taught me how, you know. 
But I didn’t work at it long. The pottery closed.” 

She paused abruptly, a little uncertain as to 
whether or not she should speak of the pottery’s 
being sold. 

He made no comment then, but said a moment 
later, “You haven’t told me why you decided to leave 
Inglenook without the formality of farewells.” 

She slumped a little in her seat. She had been 
hoping he would not insist on knowing. When she 
saw that he was waiting for her response, she began 
reluctantly, “It was just that—something happened 
—to—to make me realize how—how ridiculous I 
had made myself by coming here and pretending— 
wearing the clothes Sally bought for me.” 

“She did that?” in a surprised voice. 

“Yes. She was so sweet about it. She said she’d 
always wanted to play fairy godmother to some one. 
I didn’t mind at first. It seemed the thing for me 
to do—to wear them! but later—I realized. And 






278 CELIA’S CHOICE 

when I knew the others were to find out that I was 
just a girl that Sally was befriending—that I was 
just a girl who worked in a pottery, not like them, 
you know, I—I ” pausing to swallow hard. 

“You couldn’t face it, is that it?” 

“That’s it,” she managed, searching suddenly in 
her purse for a handkerchief. She knew he must 
feel nothing but contempt for her for getting herself 
into such a situation and then being so cowardly as 
to run away. 

“Well, here we are,” he announced as they reached 
the little town, and a few moments later he drew up 
before the lighted bus station. “Here, I’ll take that 
suitcase. There’s your bus now. Got here just in 
time, didn’t we? Now, miss, I’ve got your fare all 
ready,” waving away the money she had taken from 
her purse. 

“Oh, no!” she protested in such distress that he 
returned the money to his pocket. 

She just couldn’t take anything more from the 
Yandevers, and not from him, now, for she was cer¬ 
tain that he was trying his best to hide from her his 
disapproval. 

She held out a hesitant hand. “It was so kind 
of you to bring me down. I’ll always remember.” 

He nodded understandingly, took her hand, gave 
it a little squeeze, and asked, “You won’t be afraid 
after you get to Newtonville?” 





A RIDE IN THE NIGHT 279 

“Oh, no. I get off the bus at the Duvals’ corner, 
and then it’s only a few steps to our house.” 

He helped her up the steps of the bus, lifted his 
hat in farewell, then returned to his car. 

Once in her seat she turned and followed him ap¬ 
prehensively with her eyes as he returned to his car. 
If only he had given her some intimation of how he 
regarded her! He had been so non-committal. 
Did he disapprove of her entirely? Would he get 
some one else to fill the position she had had at the 
pottery? 

Oh, why hadn’t she told him, or at least let him 
suspect, how very necessary that position was to 
her and to Aunt Clem? What would she do if she 
were forced to leave the pottery? 


CHAPTER XXIII 


HOME AGAIN 

The ride home was a most unhappy one. Never 
in Celia’s whole life had she felt of so little impor¬ 
tance. She was thankful that the lights in the bus 
were off. She could better straighten out her chaotic 
thoughts. Oh, why, she thought miserably, hadn’t 
she listened to Angela that day at the Duvals’ when 
she advised her against accepting Sally’s invitation? 
Why hadn’t she realized more fully the great gulf 
between Sally and herself? Ruefully she thought 
to herself that even Sally must have thought it 
strange that she had the courage to pose as belonging 
to a world that wouldn’t give her a passing glance, 
did it know how far down in the scheme of things 
she really belonged. 

A worker in a pottery attempting to mix socially 
with those who would perhaps never know what it 
meant to work with one’s hands for gain! 

Yet, she told herself wonderingly, Sally had most 
certainly liked her, even in her dusty gray overalls, 
and Sally had known from the beginning just how 

280 


HOME AGAIN 


281 

humble was her place in life. There had been no pre¬ 
tense between them. Besides, she hadn’t really tried 
to gain the liking or notice of any she had met at the 
Vandevers’. She hadn’t in any way forced herself on 
any of them. She told herself determinedly that it 
was only because of Sally and her own interest in the 
little figures that she had let herself believe she had 
the right to take advantage of the invitation, though, 
as when she talked to Mr. Vandever, she was not 
quite sure that way down inside her somewhere there 
was not also a keen desire to see Inglenook, to expe¬ 
rience that taste of luxury which would probably 
never again be extended to her. 

But, looking at the matter from every angle, she 
could not honestly see that she was so grievously at 
fault. Certainly she was not responsible for her 
brother’s visit to the Vandevers’ and his discovery of 
her there. No one could in the least blame her for 
that. 

No, she assured herself firmly over and over, no 
one who loved ceramics as she did would have missed 
such a chance to see Mr. Vandever’s prized collec¬ 
tion. Why, she wondered, should one love such 
things if one wasn’t to be permitted to indulge that 
love? Should one crush such desires instead of fos¬ 
tering them ? 

Was that why she was in her present predicament? 
Had she really been wrong in the first place in going 


282 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


to the pottery to work? She remembered her aunt’s 
distress when she told her of her decision. She re¬ 
membered Mrs. Duval’s plain-spoken disapproval. 
Shouldn’t she have been guided by them—older peo¬ 
ple who knew better than she the blind alleys at the 
end of so many of one’s dreams? Hadn’t it really 
been hurt pride, or rather, plain temper, that had 
made her spurn Mr. Duval’s offer of a more conven¬ 
tional, if not more respectable, position in his bank? 
Was this her punishment? 

If she had gone into his bank, she would probably 
be sitting now on Aunt Clem’s little porch at peace 
with herself and the world. 

But had she done so, she would probably never 
have known Sally Vandever, for it was only because 
she worked in the pottery and had not been ashamed 
to say she loved it that Sally had been drawn to her. 
But what must Sally think of her now for running 
off as though she were guilty of some dreadful crime ? 

O dear! she thought miserably, staring out into 
the darkness of the passing landscape, how was one 
to know always what was the right and what the 
wrong thing to do ? Life was such a dreadful puzzle. 

Well, anyway, she decided, it was a comfort to 
know she had seen and talked to Ted, her brother. 
Even though she did not see him again, and she was 
sure she wouldn’t, she had the satisfaction of being 
able to picture him in her mind, of being able to re- 


HOME AGAIN 283 

call the strains of his music, of knowing that others, 
too, would listen and exult in it as she had. She had, 
too, the satisfaction of knowing that he liked and 
approved of her and really wanted her in his life— 
though when he learned the truth about her from 
Angela or some of the others, all that would be 
changed. 

She sighed deeply, admitting at the same time 
that she was glad, glad, glad that she had gone to 
the pottery to work, even though it might have been 
a mistake. She would never have known Sally; she 
would never have known those fascinating facts 
about ceramics that Mr. Vandever’s books had re¬ 
vealed to her, never have seen those marvelous treas¬ 
ures of his, nor Ted. 

Sally had opened up to her a world whose exist¬ 
ence she had only half suspected. Even though she 
knew she could never be of it, some part of her ex¬ 
ulted in the new knowledge that was hers, even 
though it had been bought at the price of her self- 
respect. 

She couldn’t save her self-respect now. She had 
lost that, she knew, in the eyes of Angela, her brother, 
Mr. Vandever, and, of course, Sally; but she could 
advance herself a little, perhaps, by what she had 
learned. No, she told herself again, she didn’t be¬ 
lieve she had made a mistake in going to the pottery. 
Why should God put such an intense love of a thing 



284 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


in one’s heart if He didn’t want one to develop it? 
Why should her fingers long so to manipulate the 
clay if He preferred her to pore over numbers in 
a bank instead? She didn’t believe He did prefer it. 

She set her teeth together determinedly. She 
would know more about ceramics. She would find 
a way of adding to her knowledge and skill. 

“O God!” she breathed unconsciously, “help me 
to find the way!” 

Then her head went down on the window-sill as 
she realized how long it had been since she had asked 
His help in anything. Her aunt’s unfailing belief 
in His constant guidance and help had at times rather 
irked her. If every one were like Aunt Clem, she 
had thought, He would get very tired of listening to 
their plaints. 

To her, He had manifested Himself more in the 
beauty of the earth and sky than in any other way, 
and she had been content with that. Now she felt 
a need of Him that she had never expected to feel. 
He alone seemed able just then to help her to the 
thing she craved so much. 

“Don’t let Mr. Vandever dismiss me,” she begged. 
“Give me one more chance.” And then she added 
briefly, “Thanks.” 

It seemed so needless to take up His time with a 
long petition and exaggerated gratitude. He must 
be so busy. Besides, He knew what was in her heart. 


HOME AGAIN 


285 


But she did want Him to know how utterly depend¬ 
ent she now was upon Him for help and how grate¬ 
ful she felt for His intervention in her affairs. 

Was He listening? she wondered. Would He 
give her another chance? She wished suddenly that 
she were a little girl again, that she might run and 
bury her head in Aunt Clem’s lap as she used to do, 
and shut out the humiliating thoughts that persisted 
in making her feel so humble and ashamed. Though 
she was not one to weep easily, that comforting lap 
had had a big place in her life. 

The jolting of the bus as it came to a stop at 
Newtonville aroused her. She wondered just how 
late it was as she climbed out and took her suitcase 
from the driver, thinking a bit ruefully of the lecture 
she would receive from Aunt Clem for coming on the 
evening bus. 

She hurried along the Duvals’ wall, went up the 
slope, and opened the gate with a swift gesture. 
The little house looked more humble than ever, but 
she did not dwell on that. It was home, and she was 
glad to be there where once again she could be her 
own self and not have to worry about pretenses. 

There was no light burning, but the door was un¬ 
locked, as usual. She opened it now, eager for the 
embrace that she knew awaited her. 

She stood puzzled for some moments when there 
was no answer to her repeated calls j then, searching 


286 CELIA’S CHOICE 

in the dark for matches on the iron mantelshelf, 
she lighted the lamp and carried it upstairs. 

Aunt Clem’s bed was untouched. She looked 
around thoughtfully. Her cameo pin was missing 
off the fat pink pincushion on the dresser; so was 
the string of crystal beads that usually hung from 
the frame of the old mirror. A swift glance in the 
closet showed that the black and white voile that was 
Aunt Clem’s best was also missing. 

“Where can she be?” she asked aloud, and then 
remembered old Jared’s illness. Her heart sank 
lower and lower. Why should Aunt Clem put on 
her best dress just to go over to the Stornoffs’ ? Then 
her eyes grew wide with dismay. 

Could anything have happened to old Jared? 
Could old Jared have died? 

She must know at once. She couldn’t bear the 
suspense any longer. Down the stairs she hurried, 
flung out the back door and down the path at the 
back of the house to the settlement beyond the pot¬ 
tery. 

“Please, God,” she begged over and over, without 

realizing that she spoke aloud, “don’t let me find 
* 

that anything has happened to old Jared!” 

Past the dark pottery she went, and on to the clus¬ 
ter of houses where most of the foreign workers in 
the pottery lived. 

The Stornoffs’ house was glowing with lights, and, 


HOME AGAIN 287 

as she drew nearer, she heard strains of wild, pas¬ 
sionate music—the music of Bohemia—and the 
heavy beat of enthusiastic feet. 

She paused for breath and drew a long, deep sigh 
of relief. 

They must be having Jared’s delayed birthday 
party! Then he was no longer ill, and he would be 
able to listen to her plans! 

Flinging open the wooden gate, she hurried 
around to the back of the house, skirting the group 
of elderly men crowded about the doorway. She 
knew that the parlor and dining-room would have 
been cleared of their furniture to make room for the 
musicians and the dancers, and that those who did not 
dance would have gravitated to the kitchen to watch 
with satisfied smiles and nods the exertions of those 
still full of life and vigor. 

The back door was free of obstruction. She flew 
up the steps, flung open the screen door, and stood 
on the threshold, her eyes traveling eagerly in search 
of old Jared. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


CELIA FINDS HERSELF 

“Why, Celia Carson, wherever on earth did you 
come from at this time of night? And wherever on 
earth did you get that dress?” 

Mrs. Clementine Carson arose from the group of 
elderly folk crowded about the doorway that led 
to the dining-room, her five feet, two inches, fairly 
radiating indignant disapproval. 

“Dress?” Celia looked down at herself. “I— 
Oh—this!” realizing with dismay that she had for¬ 
gotten to change into one of her own things. “It’s 
one—of—Sally’s,” she stammered, then, looking 
about her hastily, asked, “Where’s Jared?” 

“Sally’s?” her aunt exclaimed, ignoring her ques¬ 
tion. “You don’t mean to say you and Sally Van- 
dever have got on such intimate terms that you’re 
wearing each other’s clothes?” 

“Well, hardly, Aunt Clem,” with a wry smile, 
trying to picture Sally in her blue voile or the white 
graduation dress. 

It could not be done, so she dismissed the idea 


288 




CELIA FINDS HERSELF 289 

with another wry smile, then turned with a cordial 
one to the cluster of familiar welcoming faces. 

“Hello, Melby! Hello, Stance! Hi, there, 
Dolph 1” moving into the group who were holding out 
eager hands to grip her extended one. 

“Where’s Jared?” she asked again, as she gripped 
first one rugged hand and then another. 

“Just went outside,” one told her, with a thumb 
indicating the front doorway. 

But there was no getting away from them just 
then. They pressed about her, each eager to express 
himself about her bravery in saving Angela from 
the lake; solicitously sympathetic about the blow 
she had received from the canoe paddle; and asking 
eagerly of the Vandevers and Inglenook. Was it 
really the swell place it was rumored to be? Had 
they five cars and fourteen servants? 

It was good to be back, to feel again the generous 
camaraderie of these workers. So much had hap¬ 
pened in the short time since she had last seen them 
that it seemed like years instead of merely days that 
she had been away from them. 

She answered them as best she could, careful to 
hide her own feelings from the curious eager eyes of 
these friendly folk. Then, when she had satisfied 
their curiosity, they wanted to know if she had heard 
about the changes at the pottery. 

Didn’t she know that Mr. Vandever had bought 


290 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


it? Hadn’t she seen the papers? Oh, my! To have 
missed all that! It was like a story in a book! 
Once he had been so very poor, living on the poor 
little barren farm where now the pottery was located, 
and much of the land about. But he had had brains. 
The daily papers had told everything. They had 
put in his picture. Such a nice kindly man, and so 
pleasant to all! He told them how fond he was of 
the old town and how some day he meant to put it on 
the map. It was he who was responsible for that new 
State road’s being run through the town. And no 
one had guessed. A mighty fine thing it would be to 
work for a man like Mr. Vandever. The pottery 
opened again Monday. 

Through all the disjointed explanations and ex¬ 
cited babble, Celia was conscious of her aunt’s un¬ 
bending disapproval of her, and when at last the 
workers sidled away, back to the dance floor and the 
yard outside, her aunt beckoned with insistent eyes 
from the kitchen stoop. There was nothing to do 
but follow. 

“Now, see here, Celia, I don’t like the looks of this 
—your coming home at this time of night, alone, and 
wearing Sally Vandever’s dress. It don’t seem just 
right, the Vandevers letting their guests go off that 
way—a young girl like you that ought to be so care¬ 
fully protected—I must say!” 

“Oh, Aunt Clem! Protected from what? It’s 



CELIA FINDS HERSELF 291 

only a two hour’s ride, and the bus is perfectly safe. 
And you know, yourself, nothing ever happens in 
Newtonville!” 

“There’s no telling, Celia. There’s no telling what 
kind of characters might happen to get on the bus.” 

“But I’m here, quite safe, am I not?” a little impa¬ 
tiently. She was eager to see old Jared, and she 
said so. 

“Jared can wait,” her aunt returned tersely. 
“Now, just you sit right down there on the top of 
that wash-tub, Celia Carson. It’s not going to hurt 
Sally Vandever’s dress. Melby’s tubs are as clean 
outside as in. And tell me all about this visit from 
beginning to end. I haven’t had a minute’s peace 
of mind since you left, worrying about how you 
might go hunting up your brother after promising 
me you wouldn’t, and making trouble for his folks. 
You didn’t, did you, Celia?” 

“No, Aunt Clem, I didn’t hunt him,” wishing un¬ 
happily that she could unburden herself at once of 
all that had taken place at Inglenook. 

But there was too much to tell, and it was of too 
intimate a nature to talk of in such a place. 

“Well, I’m thankful for that, Celia,” her aunt hur¬ 
ried on. “I’ve just been so worried about it all, and 
what with selling the house, and Steve-” 

“Selling the house?” in swift surprise. 

“Yes.” 



292 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


Her aunt sank down upon the lowest step and 
stared off past the little kitchen-garden to the row 
of tall hollyhocks along the back fence. 

“Mr. Vandever’s bought our house. You see, it’s 
where he lived when he was a little boy. That’s why 
he kept walking past it that day Sally Vandever 
brought you home in her car. It’s the first time he’d 
seen it in years. Well, it’s like the men told you. 
He’s bought the pottery and the house. He aims to 
tear it down and build a sort of museum to house some 
fine china and pottery he’s got. He’s going to turn 
it over to the town. And he’s going to beautify our 
knoll. It’ll be like a park. He says it’s an ideal loca¬ 
tion, with that new State road alongside it and that 
stretch running down to the lake. It ought to at¬ 
tract people from other States and mean considerable 
for the town. I reckon he’s a big-hearted man, Celia, 
to do all that for a town that hardly remembers him.” 

Celia listened in amazement. A museum, here, on 
the site of Aunt Clem’s little house! Mr. Vandever’s 
collection where she could look and look her fill 
at it! 

“But, Aunt Clem, where-” 

“If you’ll just wait till I finish, Celia,” her aunt 
broke in a little petulantly. “Five thousand dollars, 
Celia, is what he paid me, and now there’s no reason 
why you shouldn’t go on to Normal, for I’m going 
out to be with Steve. He needs me.” 



CELIA FINDS HERSELF 293 
“Out wherej Aunt Clem?” 

u I n Kansas. He wrote he’s working some land on 
shares out there and wants me to come and keep 
house for him.” She heaved a deep contented sigh. 
“I always knew things would come out right, Celia. 
I always knew Steve’d do the right thing. And now 
that you can go to normal school instead of back 
into that pottery, there’s just nothing more to wish 
for, I guess.” 

But Celia’s face did not wear the peaceful smile 
that had descended over her aunt’s. She arose 
slowly. “I’m so glad for you, Aunt Clem, and for 
Uncle Steve, but I—I—can’t take your money, even 
to go to State Normal.” 

“But, Celia! Half of it is yours, and you know 
it! I always meant that the house was to be yours 
to pay up for that twenty-five hundred dollars of 
yours that Fred lost when he put it in that bank that 
failed. I never dreamed it would bring more than 
I owed you.” 

“Owed me? You don’t owe me anything, Aunt 
Clem! It is I who owe you for taking care of me 
all these years! Besides, it wasn’t Uncle Fred’s 
fault the bank failed. He did what he thought was 
right when he put it there.” 

“Yes, I know, Celia, but it’s only fair-” 

“You’ll need it, yourself, Aunt Clem, you and 
Uncle Steve-” 





294 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“No, part of it is yours, Celia.” 

Celia did not reply. She was seeing a vision of 
her future as Aunt Clem had planned it—State 
Normal; girls like those she had gone to school with 
here; friends; the world of thinking, well-educated 
folks; a little gayety at times; dancing occasionally 
—perhaps one step nearer the world of Sally Van- 
dever. It did hold attractions, and yet- 

Into her mind suddenly flashed those lines from 
Hamlet which she had memorized in one of her 
English lessons—Polonius’ advice to his son, Laer¬ 
tes: 

“To thine own self be true; 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man/’ 

“To thine own self be true.” It was her right to 
choose her work—especially so, now that Aunt Clem 
no longer needed her help. Had her uncle Steve 
remained silent as to his whereabouts and the oppor¬ 
tunity for a teaching course presented itself, she 
would have felt it her duty to have gone on as her 
aunt wished, for she knew the limited opportunities 
for good pay which the pottery afforded. But 
now- 

“To thine own self be true” kept repeating itself 
over and over in her mind. 

To be true to one’s self meant making the most of 






CELIA FINDS HERSELF 295 

what God had given you, and if you were true to 
yourself, then you need never worry about being 
untrue to others. Being true to oneself was just 
being satisfied to be yourself, regardless of what 
others thought or did. 

Her gaze wandered past the men in the yard, off 
toward the dull squatting hulks of the old pottery 
buildings. It was there in those buildings that she 
had discovered that power within her which so puz¬ 
zled and delighted her—that power as yet only a 
sentient something, but whose urgings for expres¬ 
sion were becoming more and more insistent. And 
she knew now that it was only by sticking to the pot¬ 
tery and by learning more and more about those 
things she loved that she could manage to appease 
that puzzling something. 

And who knew? Some day, perhaps when she 
had done her best to develop that dormant power, 
maybe Sally’s world—maybe Sally herself—might 
be her friend. 

The muscles of her face twitched with emotion. 
“I will, I will” she said fiercely, “find a way!” 

She arose with decisive haste. “I’ve got to talk 
to Jared, Aunt Clem,” and turned quickly to the 
doorway, biting her lower lip to keep it from trem¬ 
bling. 

“I’ll find a way to learn—and to reach Sally yet!” 
she murmured to herself, 



CHAPTER XXV 


DISAPPOINTMENT 

The musicians had plunged into the thrilling 
strains of a Spanish tango as Celia edged into the 
living-room. 

“Celia! Celia!” several called. “Come on, Celia, 
and dance! B e my partner! ’ ’ 

She stood hesitant a moment, a little intoxicated 
by the promise she had just made to herself and by 
the seductive music. She remembered the night at 
Sally’s when she had promised herself that some day 
she, too, would dance as irresponsibly, as joyously 
as they. It would be so nice to give oneself up to 
mere pleasure—just to drift. 

If she could forget Sally and the beauty of Ingle- 
nook, with its glowing, softly-tinted lights, gleam¬ 
ing floors, dull graceful curves of wrought iron and 
trailing ivy, and its pool reflecting the stars, it 
might be possible to find pleasure here. If she could 
forget the delicate tints of rare old porcelains, of 
exquisite figurines, if she could forget Ted’s eyes, 
the slender sensitive face, his music drifting up to 

296 



DISAPPOINTMENT 297 

her window; if she could forget that puzzling, insist¬ 
ent something within her that demanded all her 
thoughts and energy, she might dance. 

But she could not forget. She avoided the out¬ 
stretched hands that reached toward her, and shook 
her head at them. She had no time now even to 
think of dancing. Nothing mattered just now but 
that she keep the memory of the beauty of Inglenook, 
the memory of Sally’s and Ted’s regard, so that she 
could go on with the plans she had made for herself. 

She looked for old Jared among those who had 
just entered the far door, but he was not with them. 
Then she looked around upon the smiling, unaffected 
gaze of the pottery workers, their wives, and friends, 
whose eyes dwelt so kindly upon her. She was sud¬ 
denly a little ashamed. These humble folks were 
her friends, would always be—of that she felt con¬ 
vinced. The pottery had made them kin. 

As she continued to gaze upon them, a little puz¬ 
zled at her interest in them, she realized with sur¬ 
prize the beauty that she suddenly found in them. 
That woman with the baby against her cheek—oh, 
to fix in clay that dreamy sweet expression of a 
matron caught between the insistent call of the music 
and her stern devotion to the helpless infant cuddled 
against her! And that old man, reliving his youth as 
his rheumatic foot kept time to the music! That 
small boy, adoring his father with round wide eyes 



298 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


as he sought safety from the dancers between the 
rough blue-clad knees! 

From one to the other her gaze traveled, a little 
awed at the discovery she was making. She had 
thought that Inglenook held the sum total of the 
world’s beauty, and now here in this humble gather¬ 
ing she was finding beauty she had never suspected. 
It was a revelation, indeed, to know that Sally’s 
world did not hold all the earth’s beauty. 

She felt suddenly an immense relief, free of all 
those old aches and longings—as free and happy as 
she had been when, as a child, she had discovered the 
pottery with its piles of many-colored scraps of 
broken pottery; when she made her tremulous ex¬ 
plorations about the dingy buildings and gazed in 
wonder at the whirring machinery; and later when 
she learned to fashion the clay on the whirling wheel. 
There was no feeling comparable to it. 

She must find old Jared. She must make him 
realize her tremendous need of more knowledge. 

And then she found him beside her. 

“Kinda thought you didn’t mean to congratulate 
me, Celia,” he said as he held out a worn and horny 
hand. 

“Oh, Jared!” she breathed, grasping it eagerly. 
“Of course I do! And I’m so glad you’re well again 
and able to work. But let’s find a corner somewhere. 
There’s so much I want to tell you!” 


DISAPPOINTMENT 299 

They found a settee in a corner where the music 
would drown their voices from the ears of those about 
them. Then swiftly, but somewhat disjointedly, 
she told him of the beautiful and fascinating collec¬ 
tion of ceramics she had seen at Inglenook; of Mr. 
Vandever’s books that gave in delightful details the 
history of the art; and of those artists and sculptors 
who had used their talents to further the art. 

She watched him as she talked, and was a little 
disheartened to see that old sulky mood of his de¬ 
scend upon him. With new enthusiasm, she de¬ 
scribed the dainty figurines, doing her best to make 
him see the perfection of each piece as she had seen it. 

But when she paused at last for breath, he said, 
“Yeah, I know all about those things. Old stuff.” 

“Yes, of course they’re old. But, Jared!” she ex¬ 
claimed, sitting tense now, her eyes fastened plead¬ 
ingly on his passive countenance. “Wouldn’t it be 
possible—for us to make such things—here in New- 
tonville?” and, seeing no response in his face, hur¬ 
ried on: “I thought if you talked to Mr. Vandever, 
perhaps you could persuade him to bring a sculptor 
or an artist here and let us learn to make something 
after the manner of those Bow and Derby figures.” 

He turned slowly, his gray eyes resting on her 
with gentle scorn. “There ain’t no demand for that 
sort of stuff now, Celia. It’s because those things are 
old that they’re considered so precious. They ain’t 



300 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


nobody wantin’ little china figures settin’ on their 
mantelpieces these days. And since whatnots have 
gone out of style, they ain’t room enough in a ordi¬ 
nary parlor to put stuff like that. You couldn’t 
sell the stuff if we made it!” 

Celia’s exalted mood vanished completely, and 
her heart felt suddenly like lead. And, to her added 
dismay, a lump was forming in her throat. She tried 
to swallow it, but it would not down, for she had a 
feeling that Jared was right and that further hope 
was useless. 

“Besides,” he went on, “it’d take a lot of time and 

money to experiment with stuff like that, and Mr. 

% 

Vandever ain’t one to spend money recklessly. He’s 
got a good business here, and he’s wise to be expand¬ 
ing it along its old lines and leave the ‘arty’ stuff 
to those whose got more money than sense.” 

“But, Jared!” She made a final protest. “Your 
stuff is art, or it wouldn’t bring such good prices.” 

“Sure it is. But it’s a natural art that will always 
last. It’s been handed down from one generation 
to another. It’s like eatin’ and sleepin’ with me. 
I don’t need any high-priced sculptors or artists 
showin’ me anything.” 

She smiled at him now, understanding^ but with¬ 
out enthusiasm. Jared’s work was sufficient unto 
him. He didn’t want to develop any further. 

She felt suddenly very tired and discouraged, now 


DISAPPOINTMENT 301 

that she knew there was no chance of enlisting his 
interest in her plans. If only she could find the 
courage to make her suggestions to Mr. Vandever, 
and weren’t quite so young and inexperienced! If 
only that dreadful mess at Inglenook could have been 
avoided, or she had been able at least to give him a 
satisfactory explanation of why she had left so un¬ 
ceremoniously! He could not possibly feel any¬ 
thing toward her but disapproval. Oh, why was 
everything so disappointing? 

Jared, who had been casting anxious, sidelong 
glances at her, now spoke: “There’s nothing, Celia, 
that I wouldn’t do for you after your takin’ on my 
work and helpin’ us like you did.” 

“That wasn’t anything, Jared. Besides, it didn’t 
last long.” 

“But you meant to help me, Celia, and that’s what 
counts. It’s against reason, though, to expect me 
to go beggin’ Mr. Vandever to hire a lot of sculptors 
and artists who’ll come in here and maybe end by 
puttin’ me and you out altogether. I’m gettin’ old, 
and I got my home here, and when I get too old to 
work, I’d like to see you take my place at the wheel 
if you’ve a mind to. I ain’t never felt called on to 
teach my trade to anybody yet but you, Celia, ’cause 
I never found nobody quite with the knack you have 
of handlin’ the clay.” 

She knew there was nothing more to be said, and, 


302 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


though she felt that she should make some show of 
appreciation for what he had done for her, she could 
find no words. She wanted suddenly to get away— 
away from the kind and friendly faces, from the 
music, from the disheartening fact that her hopes 
were vain. She wanted to be alone with her disap¬ 
pointment, alone with the tears that she knew could 
not be held in check for very long. She must get 
away to the safety and quiet of her little room at 
Aunt Clem’s without Aunt Clem or any one’s see¬ 
ing her go. 

She arose, with a faint smile to Jared, and man¬ 
aged: “I’m going out for a bit of air.” 

Then she started toward the door, but came to a 
dead stop halfway across the room, for coming 
through it were her brother Ted, Sally Vandever, 
and Sally’s father. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A QUESTION 

For a moment Celia stood tense, staring unsee- 
ingly; then her face flushed a dull red, and her head 
went down while she quickly blinked back the tears 
that made her eyes now unusually bright. 

Their coming meant only one thing. They knew 
the truth. Her hasty departure had gained her 
nothing, nor had it spared Ted and Sally the knowl¬ 
edge she had hoped to keep from them. She won¬ 
dered wildly if she couldn’t think of some way in 
which to prove them wrong, prove that she wasn’t 
Julian Strassman’s sister. Then Sally’s arms were 
about her, and Sally was crying softly, “Celia! 
Celia! You good old sport, you!” 

And then her hands were imprisoned in her broth¬ 
er’s, and he was saying, a little tremor of emotion in 
his deep voice, “Why didn’t you tell me the truth, 
Celia? What a fatuous fool you must have thought 
me, bragging about my career, when you deserved 
far more consideration.” 

She tried in vain to shake them off, but they clung 


80S 


304 CELIA'S CHOICE 

closer. Their words seemed to come to her from 
far off, like voices in a dream, voices that gave no 
meaning to the words uttered. Oh, she must think 
of something! She must make them understand how 
ridiculous it was for them to care- 

“Mother was just so distressed, Celia, at your 
rushing off! And now we’ve come to take you back 
at once! Oh, Celia, isn’t it wonderful, that you’re 
Julian’s sister! He’s told us everything! I never 
dreamed that the two people I’d rather have for 
friends than any others I know could be so near to 
one another!” 

Celia’s distressed eyes were turned upon her 
brother. “Oh, Ted,” she exclaimed, “why did you 
tell—when you knew-” 

“Why! Because I wanted them to know!” his 
eyes alight with satisfaction as they dwelt on her. 
“You don’t suppose for one moment that when I 
knew the truth—what a fine little sport you were, 
working here in this pottery to help this old aunt of 

ours- Why, Celia, I’m proud of you! You 

can’t think how much! And so are Mother and 
Father. When Father saw that clay bust you’d 
made of me, that Sally discovered when she went 
upstairs to find you-” 

“Oh, Ted,” in genuine distress, “I—I—was just 
making that for myself. It wasn’t finished. I came 
away in such a hurry—I forgot it entirely.” 









305 


A QUESTION 

“I’m glad you did! It proved to them that you 
were a rather exceptional person.” 

His smile was pleased, confident, and his hand on 
her arm assertive. “Now let’s be getting back to 
Inglenook. They’re waiting. They’re eager-” 

She hung back. “I can’t, Ted. I—I—you don’t 
understand.” 

“Now, Celia,” delightful mastery in his voice, 
“just why do you think we rushed down here after 
you to-night and woke up half the town trying to 
locate you?” 

His eyes wandered about the circle of interested 
faces as though seeking their approval. “Mother 
and Father want to do for you, Celia, what they did 
for me, now that they know that you’re-” 

She drew back and stared at him, her brown eyes 
wide with wonder. 

“You mean—?” she breathed. 

“Yes,” he said. “Father has a friend in Europe, 
a famous sculptor, who he knows will be glad to take 
you on as a pupil.” 

Again she stared at him. To study under a fa¬ 
mous sculptor! To learn to model figures—life- 
size! To really create the semblance of life! Her 
brain was dizzy with the intoxicating thoughts; then 
she said, shaking her head determinedly as though 
to disperse Ted’s words which hung so temptingly 
in the air! 







306 


CELIA’S CHOICE 

“No, no, Ted! I couldn’t let them! I should 
always think it was just—because they loved you so 
—that they were helping me.” 

“Love? Fiddlesticks!” he exclaimed. “Don’t 
you realize, Celia, that any one with brains and 
enough money feels privileged to be of help to those 
who possess such a rare talent as yours ? They want 
to, Celia!” 

“But your career, Ted! I’d conflict-” 

“Can’t you leave that to the press-agents, as I 
suggested once before? You’ll probably aid my ca¬ 
reer rather than detract from it.” 

Again she shook her head, while her eyes met those 
of Mr. Vandever who watched her from the door¬ 
way. Something in his gaze gave her courage to 
stick to her determination, though she felt considera¬ 
bly sick at the thought of what she was refusing. 

“It’s impossible, Ted. I’m going back into the 
pottery Monday if Mr. Yandever still wants me.” 

She paused while Mr. Vandever nodded assent; 
then, with a little smile because his eyes bespoke 
silent approval, she went on: “I’ve got to stand on 
my own feet, Ted. Your parents are strangers to 
me. I couldn’t accept their help, even though I re¬ 
spect and admire them for all they’ve done for you.” 

“Then, Celia, let me!” he insisted. “I’ve money 
enough, I’m sure. I’ve got the right. I’ve earned 



307 


A QUESTION 

"I’m sorry, Ted, but I can’t complicate your life 
with my struggles. You’re not of age yet, and it 
would in reality be they who were helping me, not 
you. Besides, I—I feel that my place is here until 

-” Her eyes were bright with a suspicious 

moisture. “The pottery has meant so much to me, 
Ted! I couldn’t ever make any one understand. 
I’ve a feeling that if I stick to it, it’ll be the means of 
helping me find—the way—to what I want.” 

Silence descended for a moment. She saw Sally’s 
eyes meet her brother’s a little wonderingly; then a 
queer light of triumph kindled in them as she ex¬ 
claimed : 

“I told him on the way down I’d be willing to bet 
you’d turn their offer down flat! And I think you’re 
right, Celia! Fond as I am of Julian, and much as 
I admire his parents, I can’t help but think it’s just 
too bad they waited all these years to find out the 
stuff his sister was made of! Why, the very first 
day I talked to you I knew you were—well, it’s hard 
to find the word—unusual, different, superior; none 
of them fits. It’s a blend of all three, I guess. And 
when I saw you working at the pottery and saw those 

funny little figures you’d made- Well, I knew 

you had something! It was why I insisted on your 
coming to Inglenook. I wanted to prove to Mother 
and Dad that you’d fit in any surroundings; then I 
meant to prove to them you were worthy of their 








308 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


help. But I hadn’t figured on Julian Strassman’s 
being your brother. He was the monkey-wrench 
that stopped the machinery and flung you back 
here!” 

She paused for breath, laughing delightedly as 
she turned to her father. “Well, anyway, I think 
Dad’s convinced that you-” 

She paused impressively while Mr. Vandever 
detached himself from the door-post against which 
he leaned and came forward, his mouth pursed a bit 
severely, no doubt in order to try to counteract the 
gleam of interest that shone in his eyes. 

“It’s merely a business proposition with me,” he 
stated bluntly, pulling out an immaculate handker¬ 
chief and dabbing at his forehead. “You know I 
mean to make a few experiments with this clay we 
have here as soon as we get back to work again. It’s 
my opinion it’s fit for more exalted purposes than 
that for which it’s been used. I aim to branch out 
in more artistic lines—bas-reliefs, ornamental tiles, 
art panels, busts, figures-” 

Celia’s eyes lighted with quick interest, and her 
breath came unevenly, her hands clasping one an¬ 
other tightly. 

“Now, I’ve been thinking that, since this place 
here,” with a wave of his hand toward the pottery, 
“seems to have meant about the same to you as it does 
to me,—it’s only fair that I keep you on.” 





309 


A QUESTION 

He paused, and Celia drew a deep sigh of relief. 

“But it’s hardly right to keep you at what you 
were doing when you’ve got all that artistic ability. 
My proposition is this. I’ll lend you the money to 
run over to the Academy of Fine Arts in Munich, 
where I’m pretty sure you can get the right sort of 
training. Then you can come back here and work 
out the loan. Or, if you get a chance at something 
bigger than this, I won’t keep you here. That’ll be 
up to you, just so you repay the loan.” 

Celia’s eyes were fixed on his, fascinated. 

“You may sign some notes,” Mr. Vandever’s cool 
voice went on, “with interest at the regular rate.” 

His eyes met hers squarely. “A business man ex¬ 
pects interest for money loaned,” he said, and added, 
“And he’s usually pretty sure of the investment be¬ 
fore he sinks his money in it.” 

“And you think,” Celia said slowly, “that I’ve the 
ability—to learn-” 

“Yes. The ability to learn, and the character to 
take up those notes when they’re due. You’ll notice 
I’m not asking for any surety.” He felt in one 
pocket and pulled out a bunch of papers. “This is 
surety enough for me,” holding them up. “I did 
peep into those notes of yours that you asked me to 
send you, as you said they weren’t love-notes. They 
convinced me that the girl who made them has the 
intelligence and the determination that’s needed for 



310 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


success. And now, if it’s all right with Stornoff and 
the folks here, we’ll leave the party and go over to 
the old house and fix up the papers; that is, if you’re 
willing to accept my offer.” 

“Now, see here, Mr. Vandever,” Mrs. Clementine 
Carson exclaimed, pushing through the circle that 
had formed about them, “If Celia’s got to go traips¬ 
ing off to Europe to learn to make funny faces and 
people out of mud, I guess it’s my place to supply 
the money and not yours, especially as you’ve paid 
me more now for that house than it was worth. 
Though why she can’t settle down to being a nice, 
independent old-maid school-teacher is beyond me. 
Seems to me it’s a lot more elevating and refined to 
learn to teach the little live beings that’s already on 
this earth, than it is to make dumb faces and people 
out of mud. It’s my opinion there’s no higher calling 
than the teaching profession, unless it’s the ministry. 
But I reckon if that’s what she’s set to do, it’s no use 
to go on pining about what can’t be helped. But 
while I got that money, there’s no reason for 
strangers-” 

“I wont take your money, Aunt Clem, and there’s 
no need of discussing it!” Celia said with vim. 
“You’ve more than repaid me for what Uncle Fred 
lost, and you and Uncle Steve will need all of it!” 

Her eyes traveled from one to another of the little 
circle, and she saw that each was waiting anxiously 



311 


A QUESTION 

for her decision. She wondered if any of them could 
guess how momentous that decision was to her. Ted 
was scowling. She knew he resented the fact that 
she had refused his parents’ offer and was about to 
accept one from a person little more than a stranger. 
Sally was expectant; and Celia, with an inward 
smile, guessed how certain Sally was of her decision. 
Mr. Vandever appeared coolly waiting, but she 
imagined that he would deeply resent a refusal. 
Rich men love to be philanthropic, and his offer 
could be interpreted as nothing else than philan¬ 
thropy, even though she repaid with interest every 
penny of his loan. Her aunt was indignant, she 
knew, that she should consider, even for a moment, 
allowing others to do for her what should by right 
be her aunt’s privilege. Old Jared seemed uneasy 
at what the decision might be. He coughed into a 
blue handkerchief, fidgeted uneasily, then said: 

“I never figured, Celia, when I said what I did 
a while back, that Mr. Vandever had any intentions 
of going in for that fancy ‘arty’ stuff, though I don’t 
know as he’d find better clay anywhere for it than 
right here in his pits. But since that’s his intentions, 
I reckon you’d be right smart foolish not to make 
the most of his offer. It’s what I’d do if I was in 
your shoes.” 

She thanked him with a smile, then turned to Mr. 
Vandever, an anxious light in her eyes. 


312 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


“If I could be certain that I have the ability—” 
her face alight with earnestness and speculation. 

“We can’t be certain about anything in this life,” 
he returned. “I wasn’t certain that this land held 
potter’s clay, either, but I had faith in my belief 
and I spent my last dollar to find out. You’re like 
this bit of land, girl, and if I’ve got faith in your 
ability and in you, that ought to be sufficient 
proof-” 

“Oh, thank you—for that!” she broke in hurriedly, 
her eyes shining. 

But when she saw the disapproval on her brother’s 
face and he exclaimed, “It’s my place, Celia, to help 
you, not his! Mine or your aunt’s.” She said 
quickly, “No, it isn’t Ted. Mr. Vandever believes 
in my ability. He knows to a certain extent what 
I can do. You and Aunt Clem- I’d be trad¬ 

ing on your love. I can’t do that.” 

“Perhaps you’re right, Celia,” with new admira¬ 
tion in his eyes, “but it will make Mother and Father 
rather sad to know what they’ve lost, to say nothing 
of my own disappointment. You know I’ve been 
counting a lot on our being together again. But I 
suppose our consolation will lie in letting the world 
know you’re my sister.” 

“Oh, but that’s just what you can’t do!” she ex¬ 
claimed in such quick distress that he eyed her 
strangely. “There’s no need for any one to know. 





313 


A QUESTION 

It’s enough to have found you—to be able to see you 
—to know that you’re somewhere, thinking of me— 
caring a little. You’ve your work, Julian, and I’ve 
mine. We could be friends, perhaps, if they’re 
willing-” 

“Friends? I guess we will be friends! And how 
are we to prevent the truth’s being known? The 
folks at Inglenook are quite excited about the mat¬ 
ter, especially the little Duval girl.” 

“Oh, but I’m sure they’ll abide by our wishes in 
the matter.” 

Sally, who had been silent with apparent effort, 
now burst forth as she hung on Julian’s arm. “I 
meant to tell you, Celia! Angela begged me to say 
how sorry she was for being unkind to you. She was 
almost in tears. She said she’d always loved you, 
and she was so glad to know you’re Julian’s sister.” 

Celia’s eyes took on a far-seeing look. “I—I 

always loved Angela,” she said, “until- And I 

guess I always shall—in a way—for I owe a lot to 
the Duvals. I don’t suppose I’ll ever stop being 
grateful to them.” 

She meant it, for she knew it was true. The Du¬ 
vals had meant a lot to her. She could never forget 
how devotedly she had loved them. Though she 
could not define the exact state of her feelings 
towards them just then, she knew that, where love 
is once given, the memory remains. She would al- 








314 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


ways be a little richer for having loved Angela, 
though she knew she could never again resurrect that 
blind worship she had once given her. And she was 
honest enough to know that Angela could not be 
blamed for the gulf of circumstances that lay be¬ 
tween them. 

Mr. Vandever broke into her musings. 

“Do I understand, then, that my offer is ac¬ 
cepted?” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


AN ANSWER 

Before Celia could respond her aunt broke in 
hurriedly: 

“It’s just not fair, Mr. Vandever, to rush her so 
fast. Celia’s had a hard day, I know, and from what 
I gathered from this talk, she’s been considerably 
upset, or she wouldn’t have run off from you folks 
like she did. And now this party, and you all burst¬ 
ing in on her and demanding the privilege of send¬ 
ing her off to Europe and expecting a sensible 
answer! I just say it’s too much. To my way of 
thinking, you’d best forget the matter now, and sit 
down and have some ice cream and cake and some 
good cold lemonade, and maybe a dance or two 
later, and then go home with me for the rest of the 
night, or morning, rather, and maybe after you all 
have had some sleep, your heads will be some clearer 
and more apt to make sensible decisions, ’cause it 
seems to me there’ll be a lot of planning to do if 
Celia’s going clear to Europe to stay nobody knows 
how long!” 


315 


316 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


And to Celia’s look of wonder she responded 
saucily, “I ’spect it won’t hurt Mr. Vandever to sleep 
in our spare room, seein’ as he’s slept many a night 
in that house before. And as for Sally,” her eyes 
twinkling at the girl so obviously delighted at her 
suggestion, “it’ll do her good to know how poor folks 
live, though I reckon she’ll find sleeping in your bed 
with you just about as comfortable as her own, if 
you try to keep on your own side. That’s one thing 
I always favored above everything—good mat¬ 
tresses. There’s nothing like a good night’s rest to 
start a person on his day’s work. And as for this 
Julian Strassman person, who don’t seem to realize 
I’m his own great-aunt as well as Celia’s, well, I 
guess the front-room floor will just about be good 
enough for him! Though there is a couch.” 

The shout of laughter that arose at this brought 
Julian in some shame to her side. 

“Have I had a chance, Aunt Clem?” he demanded 
laughingly, leaning over her and looking reproach¬ 
fully into her eyes. “But just to show you how 

agreeable I can be-” He planted a resounding 

kiss on her flushed and wrinkled cheek, and then 
stood back and smiled upon her. “I’ve liked you 
ever since I talked to you on the ’phone and you or¬ 
dered me to mind my own business and leave Celia’s 
alone! And now lead me to the ice cream. I never 
have had my fill yet!” 




317 


AN ANSWER 

At which there was another hearty laugh. 

Although Celia’s aunt insisted that she postpone 
her decision till morning, there was no doubt in 
Celia’s mind about what that decision would be, and 
she found a chance before long to tell Mr. Vandever 
so. 

He nodded his approval and said, “I admire peo¬ 
ple who can make decisions promptly.” 

After that, she moved about as in a dream, scarcely 
daring to think that it was all true—Sally dancing 
with old Jared Stornoff; Ted taking a violin from 
one of the men and playing, as only he could play 
it, their dearly beloved “Souvenir,” that wonder¬ 
fully sweet, half-sad tune so inextricably woven 
through her dearest memories; Mr. Vandever danc¬ 
ing an old-fashioned schottische with Aunt Clem. 
Later all of them were in Aunt Clem’s little house, 
talking of all that had happened to Celia and to Ted 
since that day when life separated them; laughing 
over the book in which Celia had set down her child¬ 
hood experiences for Ted; then again sober at some 
quaint revelation of the love the small girl held for 
the brother whose whereabouts she did not know. 

Finally, yawning unembarrassed, they scattered 
to settle down for the night. 

But strangest of all to Celia, after the endless con¬ 
fidences and whispered plans for the future, was to 
find Sally beside her in her own bed. 



318 


CELIA’S CHOICE 


It was unbelievable, she told herself, as she sniffed 
unconsciously the scent of the honeysuckle drifting 
in to them on the night air, that Sally should be there. 
She aroused herself once, to make sure, and leaned 
over on her elbow, staring at the still figure, which 
turned with a tired little sigh and whispered: 

“I—forgot—to tell you, Celia- The thing 

I love—most about you is—not your talent, but 
your having—the courage—to—be—yourself.” 

Celia made no response, but her heart sang. And 
long after Sally was asleep she lay there musing. 
“The courage to be yourself.” Then after a time 
she said to herself depreciatingly, “As though I were 
wholly responsible!” 

As she stared through the vine-wreathed window 
at the stars glimmering faintly overhead, she won¬ 
dered if God, wherever He was, were not rejoicing 
with her in her happiness. 

Somehow He seemed closer now than He had ever 
been before, even when she had been so discouraged 
and needed Him so badly. Surely, she thought, it 
pleased Him when the work of His hands came 
safely through the fires of circumstance, not hard¬ 
ened and embittered by the ordeal, but a little more 
generous, a little more grateful to those responsible 
for the process; just as old Jared was pleased when 
his work came perfect from the ovens. 

As she lay thinking of Him, she seemed to vision 











AN ANSWER 


319 


Him faintly as the Great Potter He had so often 
been called, bending lovingly over His wheel, in His 
eyes something of old Jared, something of Aunt 
Clem, something of Sally, something of Ted, some¬ 
thing of Mr. Vandever, and—yes—something, too, 
of Angela; for was not some part of Him in each of 
them, just as some part of any creator appears in 
his work? 

Then sleep descended unexpectedly, catching and 
preserving the contented, dreamy smile which her 
new conception of Him had brought to her coun¬ 
tenance. 















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